It Begins As it Began
by Infinity Limited
Summary: A master potion maker would not die by poison. A child born of darkness will survive it. That which does not kill you makes you stronger - can a man in hiding, a young girl forgotten, and a few good friends make a difference in the wizarding world?
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER:** As I am not nor will I ever be JK Rowling, I solemnly do swear that I will get not so much as a knut from publishing this as the characters and earlier plot line alluded to are NOT MINE. In fact, since these ideas often distract me while I am working, they cost me money. Throw in all the money I have spent on Harry Potter items over the years… Ms. Rowling should ignore anything I ever write. Really.

He glanced at his visage in the mirror, his image so much different than before. Dark hair still, but a very dark auburn, not the former jet. And his eyes – a warm pale grey, not the obsidian orbs they once were. It had been a year since he had become this new man. He _was_ annoyed that he was slightly shorter. But the stockier build had its uses. His face looked warm; almost approachable. He chuckled mirthlessly. Since his new appearance had been the choice of his mentor, he wasn't surprised by the wont of a friendly image. He glanced away from the mirror, crossing to open the blinds, letting the warm early sun of the Tuscan morning warm his face.

He had spent most of the last year wandering the continent, but he had stayed few places for very long. He was looking for a home for his new life. For the first time in his adult life he was free of his past; free of his mistakes, and felt atoned for his misdeeds. His skin was darker too, almost as if he worked in the sun. He had left England, his home, his job, and everything he knew behind.

With the fall of the Dark Lord and his life's work complete, Britain had held nothing for him anymore, or so he had thought. He had followed his interests – researching magical lore, searching for interesting and rare potion ingredients, trying new recipes. He had supported his wanderings through his vast knowledge of magical objects, hiring himself out to identify and rediscover the magical properties of long forgotten familial heirlooms of the magical elite. His cover story and how he had come by the knowledge was air-tight. The New Zealand accent was not that much different from his previous British one, and he had cast a spell… the New Zealand witches and wizards were a very tight-knit group, and this is where his mentor had chosen to place false memories about his alter-ego's childhood and education for his eventual cover. It would take a very skilled legilimens such as him to discover the truth; and only if there was ever a reason or a profit would someone go through the trouble. As the whole wizarding world knew his former true self to be soundly dead, none would bother. He sighed. The thought should make him feel free, but over the past year, it was not freedom he had savored, but a longing that had plagued him. Is any place going to feel like home he wondered?

A light rap at the door, and a quiet question broke into his musings.

"Mr. Savoy? Are you awake? Your breakfast is at the door."

The announcement brought his thoughts from his reverie and to the present. The staff of this hotel had been told to bring the food to the door, so he could dine at his leisure. But best to be about it before his morning tea cooled. He crossed slowly to the door, not wanting to actually have to converse with the hired help, knowing they would drop the food and leave. He left a gratuity at the counter for them each day. He heard the retreating footsteps down the hall through the door, and when he was satisfied that they were out of sight, he swung the door open to retrieve the tray.

A Dailey Prophet lay beside his breakfast. It was a week out of date. The small hotel was a long way off the beaten path, even for Wizards, but they had procured the paper from time to time. He perused the news from Britain with interest. For the first few months, he had not cared. He had even gone to New Zealand to visit those who had the false memories of his alter ego as he had taken on the new role and appearance. Besides, in New Zealand magical plants were potent and rare, as well as the country having an excellent assortment of native magical creatures. However, with time, his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and on occasion he would at least scan the headlines. Page one was mostly on the reconstruction of the Ministry. Not that there had there been _that _many casualties during the war, but it had been horrifying how deeply the death eaters had infiltrated its organization. Traitors were being sent to Azkaban in record numbers. Page 2 showed the graduating 7th years with Harry Potter. He sighed inwardly. It had taken him many months of his 'rebirth' to realize how very wrong he had been about the boy, perhaps as wrong as the boy had been about his dreaded potions professor. He had shared his 'dying' with him, locked in that final scene with Nagini – the boy had been so ignorant about everything, he thought, feeling a twinge of anger resurface. Past is past, and that was no longer his life he told himself sternly, trying to shake himself of the painful reverie. Harry had been interviewed and testified – on behalf of his old self, one Potion Master Severus Snape, who was posthumously being celebrated as a martyred hero on the boy's word. He had loved the boy's mother, he thought, a hurt twinging as he thought of Lily, but the success of the war and her son's safe triumph over the Dark Lord had somehow dulled his pain of loss, and alleviated some of his guilt. The boy was ignorant about Lily, but it wasn't the boys fault, he thought ruefully, a small frown playing at the corner of his lips, but the boy was ignorant about legilimency too. The boy didn't even realize that as his mind had joined with the boy's, he himself had seen much of the boy's life. What had bled though was the true nature of the boy. Damn Albus for ever giving him the idea of sharing his mind like that if there was someone around at his 'death'! His cheeks heated. He had never meant to share so much with the boy. He and Albus had often felt that his 'death' should it occur would most likely come by Nagini – as that is how Voldemort had killed his most faithful servants when their usefulness ended or when their demise simply suited him. He had been taking a brew of phoenix tears and herbs for year, and had spoken with his mentor about such a joining, perhaps with an auror, before his portkey spirited him away. But he had been unprepared for how painful the actual event had been. Even as the opportunity to share his 'death' to make sure no one knew he was alive had entered his mind, the pain had swept through; overwhelming and terrifying. He had shared far more with the boy than he had intended. It pained him to admit that this was so, because the pain had been so intense that its strength almost convinced him that he had been truly dying at the time. But the boy, unshielded, and he admitted, cringing to himself, poorly trained in the mental arts, had revealed a great deal as well. Abuse by those who had cared for him. Mocked as cruelly as he himself had been mocked as a boy… He shook himself. The next article said that Potter and his constant companion Weasley had been accepted as Auror apprentices. He sighed. The boy's naiveté was likely to get them both killed one day and another. But that was no longer his problem. He sighed inwardly. He almost didn't feel guilty about that. Almost.

He munched on the warm scone from his tray has he flipped to the back page. There was an article on Hogwarts. Seems that the Auror's office had been filling in on the DADA position, but could no longer do so – and there were no applicants. There was an article literally begging for an applicant. He sighed. It woke an old pang of longing in him. He had always thought he hated the school, the teaching, and the students. And what he had found in this last year was he had spent more time and energy trying to keep his mind off the place than his mind actually being on anything else. Eighteen years of knowing nothing else had twisted him, he thought bitterly. If he applied in his new persona, he would likely get the job he thought disgustedly, folding the paper sharply and tossing it to the far side of the table. He poured a second cup of tea, using a silent, wandless warming spell to ensure it was piping hot. He sipped. His lip curled in silent mirth. He would apply. When he got the job, and for some reason he knew he would, he would sincerely and wistfully refuse. A small act of irrational revenge against his late mentor, but one that promised satisfaction; a small, petty vengeance, to be sure, but one he could not resist. Who would it harm? It would give him the opportunity to see how Minerva was faring, and end his curiosity on how the new potions master was faring, to boot. With a wave of his hand, the tray was cleared and pen and parchment was sailing from the desk…

"Mr. Savoy… thank you so much for the long trek for this interview," Minerva McGonagall said, trying to smile warmly at the oddly silent fellow seated across from her in the headmistress's office. He had a warm face, but very still eyes that seemed to note every detail. He was about 6 foot, of medium frame, and even a bit muscular she thought to herself. He didn't chat much, but he didn't seem distant. He seemed unusually perceptive, but in a quiet, unobtrusive way. He faintly reminded her of someone… Remus perhaps? Thinking of her friend and colleague that had passed a year and half ago during the final battle still stung. Yes, that must be it. This fellow was a slightly taller, darker version of the werewolf. Quiet and thoughtful, but warm, just not talkative…

"I shall dive right in to the interview – I have much to ask you, and want to take as little of your time as possible. The first question then," she started, clearing her throat and changing her expression from a warm smile to her most severe, headmistress scrutiny. She picked up a scroll that had a list of notes, and peered sternly over her spectacles.

"Especially given recent historical events, we here at Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft take the Defense of the Dark Arts as a vocation to keep our entire way of life safe." She explained. "While I know the history of the position hardly recommends it for those of a careful nature, I would ask that you carefully consider what it will mean for you to teach the very future of our society the skills to prevent the type of tragedy that we have lived through in the past 18 years. Why do you think you would be the best candidate to teach this, and what will your plan be to instill values in our children to sustain us in times of future darkness?"

"Well, that certainly does get to the point," droled Mr. Savoy. He returned her severe scrutiny with a guarded expression as he carefully considered his words. "I am the best candidate because even though I have extensive knowledge of, skill with and mastery of the very evil that plagued our culture, I have not allowed it to corrupt my integrity or my values" he explained slowly and succinctly. "I will not bow to a dark master, and seek above all else to ensure that when, and my dear headmistress, darkness is as much of the natural world as the light – it will rise again, but when darkness does rise again, the light of the world will be found to match it. It is the responsibility of every witch and wizard, not just teachers, to ensure that the children are that future of light." The headmistress didn't lighten her gaze. That is exactly the right answer she thought to herself.

"You say you have experience with the dark arts, yet, you have not allowed it to corrupt you. Not even once? Never?" she asked severely.

Mr. Savoy's eyes narrowed and he seemed to register surprise. "Once. As a teenager. I made a bad choice, and got on the wrong path… I have always regretted it. But my conscience is clear – I have learned from and paid for my past mistakes. I am by no means blameless, but I am neither a martyr nor a fool; I have moved past it. My plan for my students, should I enter your employ, would be to assume that the path that was not clear to me is also _not_ clear to them – and to show them the path clearly - that they have a choice, a very clear choice, and that they understand the implications of making the wrong choice. Often, it is the harder path to simply do the right thing each and every day."

"Isn't that a bit much responsibility to put on a child?" the headmistress asked quietly.

"Indeed. But it is a responsibility they have none the less, in every decision they make for themselves, whether with an adults guidance or not. We, as teachers, would be blind not to see that. And ultimately which path they take is a choice that is only theirs to make, and at their majority, they will make it regardless. We, as adults, cannot prevent our children from making mistakes, only provide the best and safest circumstances for their choices to become clear" he replied mildly.

"Mr. Savoy – I have only one reservation in offering you the position, and that is that you are from out of country, and it might be difficult for you to understand the aftermath of the demise of the dark lord. We have children here who have suffered, and this position will be head of the house of Slytherin – many of which had relatives who died, went to Azkaban or worse – that need to be tended. The emotional health of the student population isn't nearly as level as it has been in the past, and without the context of being here when the dark lord plagued our country, I fear this will prove quite difficult. Do you have a plan for that?"

"My dear headmistress," he returned coldly, "surely you are not making the mistake of assuming every negative experience I have ever had is on my resume? Certainly, I have dealt with dark times and dark lords, and had my fair share of 'context'. I will not assume that I can perfectly understand the children's trauma, but don't presume that I have no past experience on which to draw. That is hardly the case."

McGonagall sat there, considering the man for several long moments. Well, he certainly wasn't overtly warm, in fact 'aloof' would be a good term, she thought, but he certainly understood the subject matter, and the importance to the children. He would likely be a firm hand – a teacher, not a friend. After losing Serverus, they needed a disciplinarian other than herself. There had been no other applicants, so truly, what other choice did she have?

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Savoy."

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Savoy."

He sat their looking at her blankly. The sudden shift from grilling interview to smiling optimism caught him off guard. He had been irritated, surprised at how much it stung for him not to be able to acknowledge exactly how much he knew of being in the shadow of the Dark lord. But here was his moment for vengeance. He already knew through a brief moment of legilimency that he had no competition, and minutes ago, he had relished it. Now, he realized his grave mistake. He had been in Hogsmead 2 days… he had seen the castle, walked the lake. All the old memories - he thought it would be the memories of Albus and spying and Potter…. but rather it had been the true old memories to enter his mind. Sitting with Lily, inventing a new potion, creating a new spell, learning form an ancient text… the only place in his entire life where he had felt any form of acceptance or belonging had been within this castle. He had spent the entirety of the last 18 months looking for a home only to discover he already had one, a home of the heart, and he couldn't let her go. Even seeing Minerva had reminded him that when his own mother had died, he had looked to her for strength. And now she was giving him a second chance, to be accepted here at his first true home, to do it right. He could not refuse. Vengeance seemed absurd. His pride stung badly at this realization, and he hoped his eyes did not show w the heat he felt behind them.

"I would be honored to be your next defense instructor" the man known as Eugene Savoy returned.


	2. Chapter 2 Flight

Disclaimer: Nope, still no knuts, galleons or sickles. The Pottersphere is still not mine, and Ms. Rowling doesn't have to share.

This story is M for a reason folks – and the reasons start in this chapter. References to child abuse, drug/alcohol abuse, and liberal use of dangling participles. You have been warned. On with the story…

__________

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Savoy."

He sat their looking at her blankly. The sudden shift from grilling interview to smiling optimism caught him off guard. He had been irritated, surprised at how much it stung for him not to be able to acknowledge exactly how much he knew of being in the shadow of the Dark lord. But here was his moment for vengeance. He already knew through a brief moment of legilimency that he had no competition, and minutes ago, he had relished it. Now, he realized his grave mistake. He had been in Hogsmead 2 days… he had seen the castle, walked the lake. All the old memories - he thought it would be the memories of Albus and spying and Potter…. but rather it had been the true old memories to enter his mind. Sitting with Lily, inventing a new potion, creating a new spell, learning form an ancient text… the only place in his entire life where he had felt any form of acceptance or belonging had been within this castle. He had spent the entirety of the last 18 months looking for a home only to discover he already had one, a home of the heart, and he couldn't let her go. Even seeing Minerva had reminded him that when his own mother had died, he had looked to her for strength. And now she was giving him a second chance, to be accepted here at his first true home, to do it right. He could not refuse. Vengeance seemed absurd. His pride stung badly at this realization, and he hoped his eyes did not show w the heat he felt behind them.

"I would be honored to be your next defense instructor" the man known as Eugene Savoy returned.

Her hair was dull ash -too dark for blond, and to light for brown. She hadn't ever been allowed outside for any length of time. No one knew if the sun would kiss her hair to gold if she had been allowed to romp in the yard like a normal little of girl. Now, at 11, if one were to catch her gaze, they would see in her eyes that her soul was much older than 11. They would see no joy, no mischief; hers was not the gaze of a child. Her eyes were clear and blue-grey. She was short, far shorter than most 11 year olds. An old black cloak, so old and over washed it wasn't truly black anymore, but a dingy dark ash grey, hung listlessly from her hunched shoulders as she made her way furtively down the sidewalk, as quick as her odd gait would let her. The drab, warn cloak revealed nothing, however, and the clothing it hid underneath it was no better. The dull grey of the robe made her eyes turn flat grey as well. She was completely non-descript; and those few who noticed her trek through the city only took a fleeting glance, looking away at what they assumed was a poor street urchin or the child of a beggar. She kept her eyes down, furtively glancing up to see if anyone or anything approached or was in her way. She was too terrified to look back.

Her hands were tucked in her cloak, tightly grasping a slip of fine parchment paper. Her palms were slightly damp with nervousness, and she licked her dry lips as she again glanced furtively around. She had not gone to the train station before. She knew it was this general direction, but not the route. She had seldom been allowed very far from home and never allowed to travel any distance alone. She had asked an adult for directions once earlier this morning, and that adult had asked her questions – questions about where her parents were, and what she was doing out at that hour of the morning alone, and why she didn't have on a heavier coat in the morning chill. The adult's face had been creased with a frown from what she sensed was disapproval and consternation. This did not trouble her, really, as she was unaccustomed to an adult showing anything more than that. She had been told she was worthless from every adult she had ever known. The disapproval she saw in the eyes of the stranger had simply confirmed it yet again. She had lied, saying she left her cloak at the station, and her parents were having her retrieve it. The adult had asked her age, and when she replied 11, had gasped. "But child, you look no more than 6 or 7! Look at how small and thin you are!" She had gazed down at her feet, and had lied again. "It was an illness" she mumbled. The chagrined adult had moved on, murmuring apologies. She blushed furiously. But not because of her size, or clothing, but at the amount of lies she was telling. She had hurried away in the direction the adult had indicated, wanting at that precise moment to be farther away from yet another adult who was completely appalled with her and in no way concerned with her at all.

She could hear the sounds of the train station in the distance. More people were about, heading there, to and from the station she imagined. It was easier to hide in the squash. Hiding in plain sight was the easiest place for a person to hide, she thought, relaxing just a little. If her father, from who she was fleeing, suddenly stormed up from behind, she would hear it in the murmur and jostle – she would have fair warning, and could make a mad dash. She paused for a moment, ducking in an entry, leaning heavily on the wall. She looked around briefly to make sure she had caught no one's attention, and stood still, taking her weight on her good leg, closing her eyes. The long walk was hurting her injuries.

Her father had, as with most Saturday nights, come home full of fire whiskey and nothing in his pockets. She had tried to stay out of his way – not stay in the same room, not talk, not make any noise. Anticipate his wishes, move swiftly and silently. She had been successful until her father had finally passed out. She herself had fallen asleep in her nook in the kitchen shortly after, assuming that she would wake long before the drunken lout who was her father. Her nook is where the family once housed a house elf in more prosperous times. He had passed out on the sofa in the main room, and she thought she had escaped this weekends' abuse. But he had woken unexpectedly, and stumbled into the mantle. Furious as he had cracked his elbow, he had looked for an outlet for his pain and ire. He had stormed unsteadily the few short feet to the servants' entry to the kitchen – she had been startled awake by his drunken cursing, but had not been fast enough to wake and run. He had blamed her. Why hadn't she banked the fire? Why hadn't she made sure he found his bed he had screamed, or that was what she thought he was saying? He was still too drunk to not to slur his words. She knew if she ran into the dining room that she would have been caught up eventually, and the punishment would have been far worse. Instead, she had twisted away and hunkered into the corner of the nook, where it was hard to reach her. The nook was only inches from the floor, with a low overhang, and when her father was in temper he was often too drunk or too lazy to reach in and do much damage with her punishment. But last night he had failed to take off his pointed boots, and rather than reaching down, had decided to simply aim a few solid kicks within the nook, mindless of where they might land, or how much damage they could do. She had kept silent, hearing his heavy, drunken breath, smelling the stale odor of whisky smoke and heat. He had stumbled out the other door, into the dining room and off to the hallway that lead to the master suite. She had kept perfectly still. She shook herself from the memory as the pain eased with her brief rest.

She was injured more than just a bruise. She had been certain when she had woken this morning, and found that she could not rise. It had taken what felt like an eternity for her to get to her feet, and to the wash basin to scrub up for the day. The sun had just broken the horizon – her normal hour to rise from many years already of being required to. She hadn't bothered to look for food in the kitchen – she had eaten the last bits days earlier, and in fact had been slightly startled to realize before she left she was unsure the number of days since her last meal… She had opened her eyes, and pushed on to start her chores. If her father woke with a hangover the house wasn't spotless, there would be much more than a few unwisely placed kicks. That indeed was the thing moving her forward. But then her hand had found the letter with the strange crest in her pocket – her father had told her it was from a school. She could neither read nor write well, but enough to figure out that was true. He told her that the last weekend of August a bright red train took all the wizarding children to a school. He had with relish told her of the feasts, the quidditch and how she would never, ever see those halls. She was stupid, worthless, and besides, they had no money for books, even if she could read them. She had been so hungry as he talked, but not for food; hungry for a life, for something where she could know what those around her seemed to, where she could do more than be on her knees, scrubbing and hoping that the sounds of a footfall was not brining another kick or slap. She had continued to scrub the floor as he taunted her, light headed with physical hunger, dizzy with hunger of another kind. This morning, the pain and hunger had conspired against her better judgment. She would reach this train. And she would go to this school. And she would be fed. Well, at least one meal before the figured out exactly who and what she was. One meal would keep her alive a few more days. One meal maybe would give her the strength to survive this new injury. She opened her eyes, ending her remembrance of the last few days, and stumbled a bit as she moved onward, but quickly regained her composure. She could hear a whistle; she must be only blocks away.

In reality, it was almost another hour before she reached the station. It was just before 11. The train departed at noon. Early families were going this way and that – it was easy to spot the wizarding families by their odd assortment of luggage and futile glances to ensure small bits of magic were not seen by muggles. She stayed a safe distance, so the wizarding families would not notice her but she could see where she needed to go. She would rush up at the last second and dash onto the train. The less time, the fewer questions. She certainly didn't believe they would stop the train to send her home. At the very least, she would get a meal at the end of the ride. Her mouth watered, and her throat was dry with thirst. It couldn't come soon enough.

She saw a family with two young twins and a girl about her age standing next to a brick support. The woman who was clearly the mother admonished the twins to remain behind with the father, and placed a hand on the unknown girls shoulder, who looked at her mother nervously, then squared her shoulders, and walked as confidently as she could toward the support. She was going to run into the wall – but then all the sudden mother and daughter vanished. She sighed in relief. She was certain she just found the train. She stood another 45 minutes or so, and then when she felt no one was looking, and no one was entering she strode with as much purpose a she could muster directly at the support. A strange sensation came over her, and then she opened her eyes, and there before her was the red train. One of the few times her father hadn't lied, she thought angrily to herself. She stepped into the lee side of the support to observe others boarding, and to figure out a way to get herself on the train with the fewest possible people observing.

There were no muggles here. Parents ushered children, who depending on age, either looked scared and teary eyed to be leaving home, annoyed at nagging parents as they looked forward to friends and the ride to school, or somewhere in between. She saw a strange light in the eyes of parents, hugging their young children and talking to them with gentle voices. A gentle warmth radiated from them, sadness, a bit of pride, and something alien to her. Not once in her life had anyone looked at her like that or had spoken to her so. She had seen it before, and it confirmed what she had always known. She was different, and not in good way. There was no good in her and no one would look at her that way to find any even if there had been some. Whatever befell her, it was likely due to this fact. Her every action was of selfishness or worthlessness. She didn't belong on the train. Yet she was going to get on, she told herself forcibly, even though going just for the meal and the rest was wrong-she knew it was wrong. It was stealing. She had no money to pay for the tuition, and no money to pay for the food. But she was weak, she thought guiltily, and she had had more than she could bear. "I want to survive," she murmured to herself. Guilt sat in the pit of her stomach, keeping her self-loathing perfect company. She noted that no one seemed to monitor who got on the train, or where they went once on board. She saw a lull in the area of the last car, where mostly luggage and a few older students were boarding. Once she realized no one else was using this entrance for at least several minutes if proximity was any clue, she stepped around the support that had partially blocked her appearance from the assembled crowd and strode purposefully toward that last car.

She grabbed the handrail – the stairs were very steep, and it was painful on her injuries to pull herself up, but she bit her lip to keep her breath from hissing out in pain and did it anyway. The first two compartments were completely filled with trunks and luggage, as were the next two. The next two, however, were not quite as full, and she saw a very small gap between the window on the far side of the compartment, and a trunk that had been hastily stowed. She quickly ducked in, confirming that she could squeeze her small frame in the gap sideways, and bring her feet up off the floor. No one would see her from the corridor, and there was no room for anyone else to join. She should be mostly hidden for the entirety of the trip. She was comforted by the small space. It was tight to be sure, but the only side that was unprotected could be watched, and she could still see the out the window. It was perfect. She ducked out of sight so that the few remaining students boarding would not see her through the window.

She was relieved when she finally heard the whistle that the train had been sent in motion. Although she found the tight protected space soothing, the scrunched position was straining her ability to ignore the pain in her side. Once the train's motion started she slowly unfolded, wincing as pain shot from her side. She exhaled slowly once her body was straightened. She peeked around the trunk, and saw no one outside the compartment. She let her head rest against the window, and her eyes scanned the town as the train moved steadily onward. She had made it. She was safe for a time, and could rest. Tears sprang to her eyes in relief. She did not let them fall – she couldn't remember the last time she cried. She was shaking slightly; she didn't know why. Exhaustion swept over her, and the gentle swaying of the train lulled her into a light sleep.


	3. Chapter 3 Hogwarts

DISCLAIMER: Ms. Rowling owns everything Harry Potter - even the huge plot hole of killing of a potions master with poison. Yep, her best character killed by her best plot hole. Since her plot holes are better than my plots - I make ZERO dollars doing this… I'll shut up now and continue the story…

She awoke to a young voice, a baritone, likely that of another student, shouting down the car that it was only an hour to Hogwarts, and students should get their school robes on for dinner. She was wearing a tunic style blouse that had once been white, but was now a dingy grey from many dirty jobs and much scrubbing to get the stains out, and black knit pants that were a bit too large. She had the very faded black cloak – no robes really, she knew they wouldn't pass muster. She could only hope that they were too busy figuring out who she was and why she was there to notice. She peaked out from her hiding place, but couldn't see the source of the voice from the corridor. It was sunset, and the landscape was beginning to darken in the fading sunlight as they rolled through the countryside. Her side ached constantly now, she noticed, wincing at the thought that she should be getting better, not worse. The shaking in her hands was still present, but she felt a little less tired. She closed her eyes and tried to rest.

She felt the train start to slow, and quickly exited the compartment, before the other passengers started to come and get their possessions. She peeked down the corridor, and saw some older students heading her way. She very quickly exited and went to the doorway that led to the stairs that exited this car. In her hurry to get away from the approaching students, she turned the corner into the entry way without checking that it was empty. She ran smack into a very large boy, who was snogging a not so large girl. She backed away, blushing.

"Hey! What are you doing?" he snapped, although she could plainly see that he was annoyed, it was obvious that he wasn't threatening. He had a badge on his breast with a "P", and while his face held a slight frown, his warm brown eyes were not unkind. She wasn't sure how to respond so stayed completely quiet.

"What, cat got your tongue? What are you doing all the way at the back of the train? Did you leave your robes in your trunk and you can't get to them?" he asked quickly as the hand of the girl he had been so involved with moments before entwined with the hand behind his back, trying to convince him to ignore the younger student before them. It was obvious that from her small stature that if her trunk had half the stuff in it of a normal kid, she would never be able to lift it. He would have to be the one to help her, he thought, wincing inwardly. At first it has been so cool to be named a prefect, but now – now he just wanted to be with his friends. A little late for that though!

"I…" she gulped, considering her options, and which lie would buy her the most time. "I don't have a trunk on the train, I uh, think it got left on the platform, and I wasn't sure what to do. I don't have robes." She explained, blushing furiously and lowering her eyes in quiet shame over her lying.

"Oh, that's not too good. But I bet your parents figured it out, and have your trunk, if that's the case. Your head of house will get you straightened out once you are sorted. You're a firstie, aren't you?" He asked, glancing back longingly at his girlfriend who, though gently stroking his hand, was obviously getting huffy about the wait for his attentions.

"I don't know." She side stepped. I should probably get out of the way." She said nodding once almost to herself rather than in acknowledgment and starting to back away; praying that the students who had come this way down the corridor were out and she could avoid further scrutiny.

The boy sighed, taking his hand away from the girl regretfully, who threw the most atrocious pout-face at him. He shrugged helplessly at her, his face regretful, but turned to the small first year again.

"My name is Adam. Adam Malin. I am the 5th year prefect for Gryffindor." He said, as the young girls head snapped back to his face. She did not like introductions. They lead to questions. Questions were most definitely not a good idea. No, they were downright bad.

"Pleased to meet you," she replied quietly offering no further comment and continuing to back away from the Gryffindor.

Adam cocked his head, truly looking at her for the first time. Merlin, she was a mess. In the dim lighting of the train corridor, the dinginess of her attire was hidden, but the tattered state was not. She was pale, deathly white, and she kept glancing furtively behind her, like a small rabbit about to bolt for a hole, he thought. And her hands – her light weight cloak was quite a bit too short in the arm, he could clearly see her hands, and they were shaking. 'She must be a firstie from a poor family, he thought, and she's scared. He glanced quickly back at his girlfriend, Melinda. Her cornflower blue eyes were narrowed dangerously in anger, and her lips set in a firm line. He shrugged to her helplessly. He was a prefect, after all! And hadn't that been what she had been out here trying to celebrate with him?

"And you would be?" he asked her, just a hint of exasperation in his voice. She was still edging away.

"Kearns." She replied, quietly, not making eye contact, backed against the corridor wall, trying to get an opening to slip by the mass of students carrying trunks.

"Kerry? He replied questioningly, not quite hearing her response and getting the name wrong, "you don't need to go back that way, the train will stop in just a minute or two, and I will help you get over to where the first years go. I am a prefect, I am supposed to help,' he said, hoping that the regretful glance he threw at Melinda conveyed to her that he regretted the interruption, but that he had responsibilities. He also hoped that his reluctance to actually carry out those responsibilities wasn't too noticeable in his voice. The girl still didn't look directly at him. He must not have been too successful on the second part. As Melinda pushed past him with a "well, I will see you at the table, then" huffily thrown his way without a parting glance, he realized he failed at the first part. Melinda brushed past the small girl, bumping her shoulder and she winced as she bumped up against the wall. He sighed – that wasn't how Melinda typically behaved, but boy did she have a temper.

The girl met his eye again, and seemed to be looking for something. It was eerie. It was like she was both looking through him, and evaluating him like a particularity dangerous puzzle. "Alright. She replied reluctantly, after some time. Adam's brow furrowed again. Shouldn't she be grateful? Shouldn't she at least ask where to go, or something?

She was less than pleased. Hopefully it would be just a few minutes. She kept her eyes on the floor, trying to monitor the Prefect (whatever that was), Adam, and the crowded corner on either side out of her peripheral vision. It wasn't easy. Her side was still aching, and the lurching motion of the train as it came to a stop combined with trying to keep the peripherals in vision was making her nauseous and headachy.

A long minute stretched, and Adam was unsure what to do. The girl wasn't even looking up at him. "So, do where do you think you will be sorted to?" he asked cheerfully, uncertain of anything else.

She glanced up at him briefly, her eyes slightly wary, and a flicker of an emotion that he couldn't place. This girl was odd. "I am not sure I know what you are asking," she replied, so softly Adam could barely make it out over the sound of the train.

"Hogwarts has 4 houses – didn't your parents go to Hogwarts."? He asked quizzically. Her clothing was shabby, but very obviously wasn't muggle.

"My father did," she replied. He waited some time for her to continue, but realized in consternation that she had gone silent again. He was rescued from the awkward situation by the train coming to a full stop. It jerked one last hard snap, making the girl lurch hard against the wall.

She gasped in pain as the train stopped, knocking her side painfully into the wall. She let her breath out in a slow, quiet hiss, hoping the boy before her wouldn't notice.

"Hey, are you ok?" he asked taking a step before her.

She swallowed hard before replying. "I'm fine. It just startled me." she was relieved to hear that her voice didn't crack.

"Ok, well, let me grab my trunk," he said, stepping around her to reach into the compartment behind her. "Off we go" he stated with false cheerfulness, making a shooing motion toward the stairs with one hand as he dragged his trunk behind him.

She hesitated painfully at the top of the stairs. They were steep and big; it would be painful to get down. She stepped down carefully with her right side, so she could ease her other side down.

"Hey Malin – get going off the train!" one of Adam's year mates yelled from somewhere behind, seeing him poised at the top but not yet descending. He glanced back behind him, irritatedly wishing the girl in front of him would hurry up. He had never seen anyone take stairs so slow before.

"Kerry, you aren't going to fall." He said loudly "Get yourself down those stairs." He said, knowing full well the exasperation in his voice was clearly evident.

She didn't have the energy or willpower to spare him an answer. Two steps left. She had broken out in a cold sweat from the pain. She was praying no one came down the stairs and pushed her.

"Hey – hold your horses, I got a firstie who is afraid of heights!" complained Adam loudly to his friends with a wry grin. She was mortified at the statement, but then again, it was better than anyone knowing the truth. When she reached the platform, she let out a long breath and stepped to the side as quickly as she dared. There were children of all shapes and sizes everywhere. Mostly happy smiling faces, in a sea of black robes, necklines having stiff white shirts peaking out with a variety of brightly colored ties.

The boy stepped up beside her, trunk banging down the last step. "Ok. That wasn't so bad was it? Now you hafta find Hagrid. He is half giant and really big, you can't miss him. Think you can do that?" he asked impatiently, but with a bit of kindness. She looked at him without answering. What does one say when you are completely useless, she thought helplessly?

"Fine." He said stiffly. This girl was obviously in need of some guidance. And although he resented the interruption to his earlier activities, it hadn't been but a couple of hours ago that they had gone over the prefect responsibilities, and this was likely one of them, although. Adam wasn't' sure because he really hadn't been paying attention. Losing patience, he took a swipe at her hand, to lead her in an effort to lead her in the right direction. The sudden movement startled her and she jumped back with a gasp, eyes going wide and round.

Her sudden movement startled him as well. However, before he could say anything, the half giant loomed at the other end of the platform, head shoulders, and even waist above the heads of many of the students. "Firs' years, this way. Firs' years, make your way to me. Don't dawdle, min' ya, we gotta make the feast right spot on time, wouldn' wanna to be a missn yer own sort'n or nutthin now…" rambled on the gigantic man.

She was about to panic. The man was huge, surely he wasn't safe? She glanced fearfully at the boy that had taken her by surprise, and found no solace for her anxiety there. Adam was at a complete loss. He didn't know what her sudden movement, or the odd expression n her face meant, or what should do about it, regardless.

"Well, we have got to get you down to Hagrid." He said, his forced cheerfulness making his words have a bit of bite. That was it for her. She spun quickly away, and started darting willy nilly through the milling students, trying to choose a vector to lead her to the gigantic man, but also trying to avoid the many elbows, trunks hands and people that seemed to obscure her path at every turn.

Adam watched until she was several people away, and shrugged. Boy, she's an odd one he thought. I wonder what is wrong with her? I hope she gets sorted into something else besides Gryffindor he thought, and then started pushing through the crowd in search of Melinda.

How she managed to push through the milling students without jostling her sore side seemed unclear. Mostly the students were so caught up in the excitement of being back at school most didn't even notice her, while some took on short look at her bedraggled appearance and quickly glanced away. Which was just fine with her. When she came to a circle of children about her age, gathering in a tight circle around the gigantic man, she cautiously maneuvered herself on the outer edge of the circle, around to his right. He was scanning the crowd with his eyes, his reassuring smile almost obscured by a thick, bushy brown beard. She maneuvered to where she could read his face, but was likely out of his peripheral vision. She glanced at other children. She was frightened of them too – she hadn't been around anyone her own age in years, and wasn't sure how they would treat her – but not nearly as frightened as she was of the gigantic man. His smile was easy, and his eyes bright – and not with drink either, he seemed truly pleased, but about what, she couldn't fathom. She waited patiently as the rest of the first years found their way, keeping as much of the commotion on the platform in her awareness as she could.

Hagrid was delighted. He loved the school, loved his life, and loved children. He knew he would likely never settle down and have a proper family – half giants were a bit rare, and the only other one that had been friendly to him had denied her true parentage, but being able to be around the wee ones as they learned their true nature, and see how they took on in the world; well, that was just something special. He knew many of the children were scarred, and many had come from families that not too long ago had suffered terrible burdens, so he tried to look in the eye of each of the little ones eyes. He saw a girl not in her robes but a drab old cloak skit nervously around the edge of the crowd, deftly avoiding being noticed by him. It was precisely this behavior that made him notice, but he was only subconsciously aware of that. Many years of caring for injured animals, panicked and hyper-vigilant, had allowed him to develop the instinct for this type of behavior. He did not challenge the youngling's sense of security by taking notice of her, or meeting her eye. He pivoted however, so the many students before her would have first shot at the boats. She would likely hang back, and he could approach her one on one and check to see why she was so skittish. It might just be first night nerves he thought, but somehow he got the sense it was something more.

"Ok you firs' years, into the boats. No mor' n' four of yer, and we have plenty of boats, two will do if'n you 'er want'n a little less company. Now that's good lads n'ladies, make room," he encouraged joyfully, as the more adventurous (and likely Gryffindor) he thought moved into the boats. As suspected, the girl swung back in the crowd, so she was almost to the very back, one step behind, and several students to the side of his left shoulder. He paused and took a step back, coming even with her. She checked her progress hoping he would go forward again, but he turned to her smoothly. "And Miss, will you be need'n a han with anything? Where's your robe's?"

She glanced quickly up at into the man's eyes, and saw warmth and concern, she was sure, but something else flickered by quickly as well, she didn't feel what it could be. She was wary, he was hard to read. Her side hurt… what was the lie that she had told earlier, she wondered desperately. It was always easier and less likely to get you caught if you perpetuated the same lie, rather than make up a new one. Less to take note of, and no contradictions to bite you later on down the line. "I don't have a trunk" she replied. Was that what she had a said before? She couldn't remember. Her side hurt, she couldn't think.

"Ah, got left at the station? That hap'ns once n' a while. Nutthin' to fret over, missy, we'll get one of the pro'fssrs to get you straightened out once were at the castle" he rumbled, giving her a reassuring smile. She closed her eyes briefly against her pain and anxiety. She felt concern radiating from the gentle giant, with an undercurrent of suspicion, but absolutely no malice. She opened her eyes once again and gave the man a tired smile, hoping that it looked convincing.

"Where do I go? She asked quietly, and he waved her into a small boat. Normally Hagrid had to take a boat by himself, which would set very, very low in the water. The tiny wisp o' nuttin in front of him, however, certainly didn't put him in any additional jeopardy of tipping.

She lowered herself gingerly into the boat, and then scooted to the very prow, taking up only the tiny triangle at the very front of the first seat, careful to keep her back to the giant and looking ahead. This was not something she would normally do, but the man seemed calm and gentle, even if she did sense worry and suspicion. She clutched at the sides, body hunched – she hoped that her strange posture would be attributed to the boat rather than the hot stabbing pain in her side. Her breathing was coming in short pants; she tried to take deeper breaths. It was agonizing. Hagrid gingerly entered the boat behind her, remarkably agile in not tipping the boat too much, despite his massive size.

"Well Miss, "I'm all set – you needn't be hangn' on fer dear life anyhow." He chuckled, mistaking her posture as she had intended. "Lookn' up on the hill, isn' tha a sight?" he enthused loudly. She exhaled another slow breath, and lifted her head up to look. The last few rays of the early September sun were burning a dark orange at the skyline of the distant mountain range, whose rock crags were dusted with the first blush of snow. The sky faded from orange to lavender away from the sun, sweeping across to a deep, intense violet, and the first to the night's stars were starting to make their appearance in the darkest part of the sky. Framed neatly by this scene was a grand castle, 4 main turrets and ad maze of buildings in between, set majestically on a large sloping lawn, with obvious gardens and greenhouses. It was magnificent. It was utterly awe-inspiring. It was heartbreaking. The heat of unfallen tears suddenly burned behind her eyes. This would never be her school, her home. She was worthless, and weak – and absolutely not worthy of such a thing. She hated the fate that created her this way. She hated her mother for every bringing her into this world.

She hated her father for not ending her misery. She was worthless, but she was a coward – she should die, but oh, how she wanted to survive, to live. She had a purpose here – a meal, a rest, and a few more days to make it through… she wished she could give up. But somehow she simply couldn't.

The giant waited patiently from some sort of a response from the girl, but thought perhaps the beautiful sight had left the girl speechless. He had lived here for most of his adult life, and sometimes it still left him speechless. He certainly wasn't surprised. His thoughts abruptly left the girl as he noticed two rowdy boys leaning down dangerously on the same side of their boat to cup their hands into the cold, dark water only to launch it at each other and a few friends in boats nearby. Hagrid knew better than to let the imps arrive wet and cold to the sorting feast, and delaying dinner due to a couple of overexcited first years managing to fall in the lake would never do where the headmistress was concerned, even though he personally could see no problem with a bit of rambunctious fun. "You two, you be stopin that for'n one of you tips out and gets eaten by the giant squid" Hagrid said in a booming yet friendly voice. He chucked to himself as the children instantly froze, turned fearful eyes toward the giant and placed their hands carefully and quickly back in the boat, now glancing wearily out into the surface of the dark lake below. The girl had flinched at the loud voice, but had relaxed quickly when she realized there was no malice, but brought her hands quickly form the side of the boat where she was clutched at the mention and flinched at the thought of the dangerous squid. But then she felt the essence of the statement… Hagrid was lying. She relaxed a bit when she heard the giant's voice tell her conspiratorially "Miss, there's nothing to be scared of, the squids actually quite harmless once he's a bit familiar with'n ya. She glanced surreptitiously behind her, and for the briefest moment met the large mans warm brown eyes. She nodded abruptly in acknowledgement of the giants words, and quickly faced front again.

"My name's Hagrid, professor Hagrid, and In' teaching care of magical creatures, what's your name, there lass?" asked Hagrid, hoping a bit of small talk would ease the anxiety he had caught in the soft grey eyes of the small girl in front of him. 'Oh sweet Merlin' she thought to herself. More questions. Hagrid noted that she took a moment too long before replying. "Kearns" she replied quietly, so quietly in fact that the giant didn't actually hear her, but then they were nearing the dock, so he simply replied "Well, that's a nice name then, isn't it. Now you hurry out of the boat and wait with the others" he prompted, as he secured the boat to the dock, and started giving similar instructions to the other children. She slipped out of the boat as quickly as her injuries would allow, and tried to keep up with the mass off students as the climbed up the grassy knoll from the lake to the lawn of Hogwarts. She kept her eyes down, avoiding the nervous conversations of the other first years as they made their way to the castle, and tried to ignore the agony that was increasing with each step. Soon she would be sitting down. Soon she would be eating. Her stomach tied itself in t knot at that thought. Just because she starving did not mean her body would let her eat. Nausea swept her at the thought, and she deliberately tried to keep her mind blank for the rest of the walk.


	4. Chapter 4 Sorting & A Name

Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: I checked both my lottery ticket and Ms. Rowling's website. Still don't own anything related to Harry Potter, and still don't have enough money to buy 'em either. If Ms. Rowling auctioned Snape as a character… I wonder what he would go for? Not mine, in any event. On with the story (and for those of you inpatient for Savoy/Snape… he's coming up again end of this chapter and in the next.

The first years traipsed up the castle stairs, and into the castle, up two more flights of stairs to an antechamber with high, arched ceilings, stone walls and stone floors, where a small man, with glasses, obviously a professor stood and greeted them. For all that Hagrid was big and overwhelming; this man was diminutive and unimposing. He seemed distracted. "Yes, yes, first years, this way. We will go into the great hall in a moment. Even with his diminutive stature, he was almost a head taller than she. The man was tiptoeing, hopping up and down while trying to make sure all had made up the stairs. She stepped back to try and stay out of his line of sight, but a student caught her by the elbow.

"Watch it, you'll fall down the stairs!" said in a querously disdainful voice. She spun quickly toward the voice, surprised by the contact, eyes wide. The girl took one brief look at her and her nose headed toward the rafters. Her hair was dark blond, sleek and shiny, and pulled into a thick ponytail. Her face was round and bit on the plump side, and her eyes were the darkest blue in the dimly lit corridor. Even though black and plain like the rest o the school robes, the sheen of the fabric and the absences of any obvious stitching spoke to the finest of materials. She backed away, even as the girl that spoke jerked away as if burned. 

"Ooh, Misha, look, she must be one of the poor orphans that are coming here for free; well a good thing I saved her, or Mum and Dad's money would probably go to pay for her medical care too. A complete charity case." The girl simpered, disdain mixed with a fake sincerity that made her skin crawl. The girl identified as Misha was nearly a foot taller than her and stared disdainfully down her nose as the small girl. "She should be grateful. But I doubt that lot knows anything about such things…" She had heard too many things, too many hateful things about herself not to know the girl's statements had merit. While not an orphan, she was all but, maybe even better off if she had been one. And while she wasn't a charity case, she was here in the very real sense of the word to take charity – to take food and shelter that she had not earned. But the mean-spirited girls had saved her from a possible fall.

"I am grateful, actually..." She said quietly looking down and away from the hateful gazes, but she could feel the shift in tension as the girls turned their backs and pointedly ignored anything more she might have tried to stay.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she flinched. How could this night get any worse? She thought to herself as she turned whirled on the new threat. It was the diminutive professor. He had warm brown eyes behind round, golden wire rimmed glasses, a thick bushy mustache, thin lips, and short dark curly hair. "I am professor Flitwick. Ms.? Where are your school robes? You can't be seen in the great hall and get sorted without robes," he explained, the strain of the responsibility of assembling the milling children putting an edge to his voice.

She knew she was at the edge to the stairs, and could not back away. She sensed irritation and impatience, and knew the next step was anger. She wanted to flee! The pain in her side would not allow her to traipse down the staircase quickly, and her other routes were blocked by students. She hedged her bets until she could get away.

"I don't have my trunk" she replied quietly, her cheeks burning with shame as she looked at the floor. The professor sighed.

"Well, the sorting used to be Professor McGonagall's job, and as the transfiguration teacher, was likely a site easier, but we will have to make do won't me Ms., I am sorry, what did you say your name Miss?"

She glanced up in a panic, barely meeting the professor's eyes for a moment.

"Kearns" she replied, her voice barely over a whisper. Professor Flitwick took his first real look at the child. She was pale, and looked a bit peaked, her features were incredibly plain; ash hair, pale blue, or perhaps grey eyes –hard to tell since she would barely look at him. The clothes were in tatters, the girl was obviously very poor. Best not to do anything too radical, and try to put the child at ease, he thought. Going away to school was particularly hard on some students.

"Well Ms Kearns," he said, trying to soften his tone to put what he believed to be the clearly shy child at ease, "we will make do with my skills. I teach charms, but transfiguration isn't too far out of my reach." With a flick of his wrist, a wand was in his hand, and her ragged robe was transfigured into a black school robe. Not that much less shabby than before, he noted with a grimace, but in the weak light of the great hall, it would only be noticed by the very observant – it would do for now.

She flinched as she felt the spell hit her chest, and glanced up in surprise. Rarely did adults waste the energy to hex her rather than just strike out. What had she done to deserve… it took a moment in her panicked state for her mind to catch up with the fact that although she was in pain, in fact, quite a lot of pain, none of it was new. She glanced down. Her robes were longer, and a bit less torn, and definitely a deeper shade of dark gray – almost black. More impressively, they were the exact same cut as all the other students' milling around. She looked up at the professor, astonishment clearly written on every line of her face.

Professor Flitwick sighed inwardly. By the look on her face, she was mortally offended. It wasn't his fault that she had left her trunk on the train! And it wasn't as if her robe couldn't be transfigured back to its original inappropriate and deplorable condition was it?

"Professor." She started quietly. "I…. I"

"What is it child?" He said, not unkindly, but with little patience. "What did you think I was going to do? Custom order a set of robes for you on the spot so that you look like you just stepped off a fashion runway for Witch Weekly?" The little man's cheeks were flushed pink.

"No sir, sorry, I just wanted to thank you. This was brilliant." She breathed gesturing furtively at down at herself and the robes. She was still in shock. Someone had done her a favor, and unasked for favor, with no potential payoff for themselves in site. She was no fool. Just because she couldn't spot one herself, didn't mean that there wasn't one. And even at only 11, she was no longer naïve enough to believe that could possibly be the case. But it was, well, just nice, to think that maybe, maybe the man was at least sincere in his desire to help her, and maybe the payment he would require would not be that big of a burden to bear. Just maybe.

"Well then. We'll get your straightened out. You certainly aren't' starting on the best foot, but well get you figured out in a few days." He said briskly, turning to head to the front of the mingling crowd. She was upset. What was he going to figure out exactly? What did he man, not starting on the right foot? Well of course, sneaking into the school on false pretenses, starving and sore, certainly was not the best start, but then the little professor couldn't possibly know that, now? She shivered, and pressed a hand carefully to her aching side. She figured it was just her imagination, and the fatigue of standing and waiting at the entrance hall so long, or perhaps the long flight of stairs to get o the entrance, but she certainly felt worse. Much worse.

She was uncertain how much time had passed before the doors to the great hall had opened. She stayed to the very back as 2 rows of first years snaked their way nervously into the great hall, eyes skyward, at a ceiling that lurked into infinity with stars, as if outside. Candles floated her and there, and the faces of many students were turned up toward the front table as the first years filed in. She could barely make out the crowd from the back, given her diminutive height. She had never wished to be taller; she liked that she could hide. She listened to the murmuring of the crowd as she heard the scraping of a stool, and then a voice, craggy and old, began to sing.

_Oh, the trials are over; the dark one is no more._

_Celebrate, and love, there is time for happiness_

_Learn your passions, strive to be great – _

_For all of life is a circle and it will be as before;_

_The light will lead for a time, but the dark will come again._

_Live today. Be present. Be rested._

_Study, work hard, be true to yourself;_

_Without the dark we would not be strong, not be tested;_

_Learn to love the ones you once considered dark;_

_Here and now you will find the next great one, not to be bested._

_It is up to you whether there strength will lead to the light, _

_Or start the circle turning again, ready for the new night._

'Short and sweet, and not too threatening this time,' thought Professor Savoy mirthlessly, as he scanned the crowd of first years. He had to check a smile as he realized that many of the first years were taller than the professor that had led them into the hall. In most of his previous time at Hogwarts, the sorting had been McGonagall's job. He thought brought a pang of loss as he thought of his old mentor. He pushed the morose thoughts out of his brain by setting his mind to thoroughly examining the new students, as well as watching the reactions of the students at the tables. A few he recognized, but very few. Long years of watching from this very spot though had let him develop a sense of the students simply from their reactions of watching the younger children; watching the sorting generally would let you know the biggest problems you would be facing right off the start. Spying for years had certainly let him read the simple reactions of children all the better. There was little that he missed.

She heard the song, not sure what it meant. She had had broken out in a light sweat, and her hands were trembling. She was terribly thirsty all of the sudden. "Wait, just wait, they will feed us soon.' She told herself, unconsciously trying to sooth herself, trying to stay to the back, the shadows and out of sight. She was aware of the sprite-like professor's voice calling out over the group.

"Abernathy, Daniel!" A pause, and then another voice, the voice of the song, calling out "Gryffindor!" shortly thereafter.

This was followed by "Abbott, Estella!" from the professor. After a brief pause, she heard "Ravenclaw!"

She realized that she should figure out what was happening up front. If they were calling them one by one, she knew she needed to know what was expected. With slow movements, carefully orchestrated to look casual, she shifted her weight into one neighbor's personal space, and waited for that person to move. The sorting was to the 'd's before she found her way to a side edge of the crowd where she could see.

"DeWitt, Organza!" A plump girl, dark blond girls swept back from her face, shoulders squared proudly, strode forward and settled herself on a stool, before the whole school. The realized this is the one that had saved her from the fall, and had spoken to the girl Misha. She made quite the fuss of arranging her robes 'just so' before she alit on the stool, much as queen taking her throne. She regarded the girl dispassionately. She knew this type. Pureblood, wealthy, and cold. She would avoid her. As much as her father's home had been difficult over the past 2 years, her earlier years had been spent serving pureblood wizards. She knew the cruelty. This girl was dangerous. An old, battered hat placed upon her head didn't have time to settle long enough to muss her perfect tresses before it shouted "Slytherin"! With a self satisfied smile, the girl rose, and proceeded to the closest end of the table, where the other students cheered and made room. A singing, talking hat? Really? Well, there were odder things in the wizarding world, she thought.

Suddenly her already pale complexion waned further. 'They are going to call my name, and I am going to have to walk to a table, in front of everyone,' she thought, panic rising as bile into her throat. Everyone had two names – she did not. She did not have a name at all for the first seven years of her life. She was called 'girl', sometimes 'waif' or 'servant' – but never by a name. When the men took her to her father, they had told her that her family name was called Kearns – her father's last name. When her keepers had seen fit to dump her with her biological father, he had asked her name. She had none, and told him so. He had been angry at her, for reasons she still could not fathom. For an instant, she was trapped in the memory of that night, her first with her father, and he had slapped her.

"You are a Kearns! Don't you slander that name – by Merlin I will beat into you what it means to be a pureblood! Didn't that wench of a mother teach you anything?" She had remained silent. Even at 9, she already knew the fruitlessness of replying to a rhetorical question.

"Well, don't just stand there, Kearns, get your sorry ass into the kitchen and put yourself to use. I didn't ask for you, I don't want you, but if you are going to be dumped on me, you are at least going to be useful and stay the hell out of my way. Now go!"

The announcement of another student sorting snapped her back to the present reality. What could she do? The great hall doors had been closed behind them, and a student leaving the hall from the front of the room would definitely get noticed. Spots danced in her field of vision. She instinctively took long slow breaths; living in constant fear had taught her techniques to maintain her façade of calm. The calming breaths eased her vision. Come what may, there was a meal and a bed for her after this ordeal. And a day free of any punishment. She could survive this too. She swiped at her forehead with the back of her hand to keep the mild perspiration from her eyes. She was barely aware that the trembling in her hands could no longer be stilled.

A smile played at his lips, and he felt a rush of warmth at not having to refrain from showing it. He was free. Free to find the 42 first years assembled in front of him to be somehow endearing. Free to agree with his colleagues on who to watch out for. Free to give the headmistresses a sincere compliment on her severe tartan wove robes – he liked their stiff, formal propriety. A subtle shifting in the back of the group of children caught his attention. It wasn't because it was quick, or obvious; quite the contrary. It was slow and seemingly random – exactly what a spy would notice. This child stepping left, and another stepping right, and they were slowly parted by an un-seeable force. Like a short person slowly making there was to and edge toward front and center… His light smile turned into a smirk after a few moments he saw the fact of a small girl peer from behind one of her new classmates shoulder. He was impressed. She was clearly in the personal space of the taller boy in front of her, but had been so discreet in her movements that he was not aware at the small girl below his shoulder. Her face was unreadable, almost blank. She was quite unremarkable looking at this distance, but was quite short. He saw her flinch ever so slightly as the next name was called, and her face drain of what little remaining color it had. He hid his growing grin with by covering his mouth for a small fake cough. Sneaky to a fault, but terrified of the sorting hat. His concern at her stealth skill of and her being a trouble maker vanished at her fear of the small, silly magical hat. He noticed though that her eyes were exceptionally shiny, and she vaguely wiped her brow with the back of one hand and winced. His eyes narrowed as he studied her, smile fading. Was she ill? He would have to make a comment to one of his colleagues to check on the child if she sorted into another house. He always interviewed his first years; if she was in his house, he would see to this one first. One sick child at the welcoming feast could put a flu outbreak in the dormitory in under a week. Shuddering at the last time that occurred, and the hours and hours he and Poppy Pomfrey had spent nursing vomiting teens was not something he cared to remember.

"Jorgenson, Morganna!" Called the little professor. A short girl, thin and petite, with straight brown hair and dark brown eyes scampered forward, dropping quickly onto the stool. The professor lowered the hat. They had seemed to pause for a very long time – seconds continued to tick by. Suddenly "Slytherin!" was called by the hat, and the table clapped again. Half way through the sorting, and only 3 Slytherin, all girls? thought the DADA professor – not an auspicious start for his house.

Professor Flitwick went to call the next name. He opened his mouth, inhaled a breath, and let it out sputtering confusedly. His eyes shot toward the headmistress, and back to the student. Well, THAT was certainly interesting. The headmistress cocked her head to the professor, brows starting to knit in puzzlement. "Uhm, Yes, well,…" stammered the professor. Suddenly, with a shrug, he called "Kearns! Ms. Kearns!" A few children twittered at the formal title.

She kept one hand against her side, and stepped forward, keeping her eyes down at her feet, using her peripheral vision to avoid the other students. She definitely didn't need to see the student seated in front of her, or the teachers studying her from behind. Pressing as firmly as she dared to keep the movement of walking from jarring her injured side, she slowly reached the stool. It was taller than her waist, she couldn't just sit. She eyed the seat for the safest way to get up to the right level without jarring her injures. She felt like one more jolt and she would be done; she would simply pass out. The little professor huffed at her slowness, already flustered by the trouble with her name.

'That's odd, thought the headmistress. Filius didn't give her first name. He told me to he had familiarized himself with the names, and that there was none unfamiliar. Did he suddenly realize he had one wrong? I wonder what her first name could be that it would be impossible for him to read. For heaven's sake, why is that child not getting on the stool? We need to get these children fed and to bed. The headmistress murmured an apology to her new DADA professor on her left, and rose from here seat.

"Well, don't just stand there, Ms. Kearns, get on the seat" the little professor huffed exasperatedly. She ducked her head in anxiety, as her cheeks instantly heated. Her swift motion, enough to dim her vision again, panic formed in her mind, she was going to faint… she stilled an inhaled deeply, struggling to keep her feet. She heard giggling from her right – the Gryffindor table.

"I know she is afraid of heights, but that is ridiculous" said an exasperated voice that her mind somehow identified as the prefect named Adam from the train. Her cheeks burned even harder, and she broke out in a cold sweat. A firm yet gentle hand came to her shoulder, and she flinched as she looked up quickly to see the steel grey eyes of the headmistress, who had come down from the head table.

McGonagall flushed with annoyance at the voice of one of her lions. The girl was standing there like a startled doe because she was afraid to get on the stool? Great Merlin, she had never heard of anything so ridiculous from an eleven year old witch.

"Filius, it's all right, just put the hat on her while she stands." Said the headmistress, impatience clearly written on her face as well as heard in her voice. While the diminutive professor came behind and sat the old musty hat on her head.

She sighed in partial relief as the headmistress had not notice her start when the hand hit her shoulder, and then she didn't have to get on the chair. She could feel the exasperation come off the headmistress in waves; the emotion was almost corporeal it was so strong. From professor Flitwick, she could feel exasperation, yes, but mostly just impatience and annoyance. Nothing in the way of a positive emotion came from either of them – but this was not new. In all her life, she couldn't really call anyone feeling anything positive directed toward her. For the first 7 years of her life, she had mostly been ignored, as a servant or slave, and no one had explained anything to her. But in the early days with his father, he had explained all too well. She was worthless, not very bright and a burden. Everyone would always hate her, most of all him, as he was the one who was saddled with the burden of her care and presence. This situation had gone from terrifying and humiliating to the much more comfortable ground of what she was used to; hostile and humiliating. She could deal with that.

When she felt the musty, ancient hat fall down over her brow, for it was much too big, she suddenly felt cut off from all the emotions and sight of those around her. She was acutely aware of her pain, and her magic. Then the hat spoke.

*You are injured, child. Ask for help*

Panic flooded her brain. Could everyone hear the stupid hat?

*No. No one can hear me when I am not signing except the person wearing me. And yes, I can read your thoughts. Interesting. You feel the emotions around you, and feel blind when my magic occluded yours. That is a very, very important skill my dear, so where to put you. Once you are sorted, ask for help.*

The hat could read her thoughts? Dear Merlin, she had to get it off! What if it found out why she was here before she got what she needed?

*Ah. So you think here you will not remain. I see. Well, dear, I haven't the gift of a seer, I was not made that way, but I do see you here, in your house, and doing well. You are very powerful. Where to put you?*

She, powerful? Surely the hat must be mad? That actually helped ease her panic. No one would take the thing seriously.

*So you know those around you, but not thyself, I daresay. Well, well, that and a core of bravery, you would make a fine lion, now wouldn't you? But they are too obtuse, and you have darkness put upon you, and the lions are never ones to deal well with that, true. Smart you are, and determined, Ravenclaw would serve you well, and they are quiet, you could slip through school with no fuss at all. Ah, you like that idea, don't you*

Well, yes, yes she did. A quiet place where she could study and learn – sounded like heaven. Too bad she couldn't stay, she thought wistfully. But a meal and some water, and bed! She was almost there. Her stomach knotted painfully. Was it too late? Would she be able to eat?

*Daft child! You are injured. I will sort you, but ask for help. I see you here – do what you must to stay here for a long as you can girl. Now where to put you…. Hmmm??? You hide all too well now, and although you could be a badger, you need to be seen to get the taint from you removed." But you are a hard worker, and dutiful, perhaps the kind hearted Hufflepuffs will be your first friends?"

She sighed. She hurt and her vision was blocked. Even the old hat could sense how worthless she was, and now she was sitting in front of the whole school, keeping them from dinner. Damn, she hoped she never saw any of these people gain. Friends? Who would be friends with the likes of her?

*Yes, you will need friends, but you will not trust those who give their friendship too willingly. Child – you are a survivor; cunning you must have been, to survive the curse upon you. Fortunately, the master of the house of Slytherin has returned, and he is true, and does what is right. I will place you in Slytherin. It is not my creating to interfere, but I urge you to ask for help. Tell him you are cursed. Get beyond this, for you will be a great power.*

"SLYTHERIN" she heard the sound reverberate off the walls, and the hat was snatched unceremoniously from her head.

She held her breath as the hat was whisked away, and realized that not nearly as much time had elapsed as she thought. The children at the table to her left were clapping politely and restrained, and a tall older boy with wavy dark hair carefully styled and bright blue eyes gave her a curt nod of the head in acknowledgement and indicated with a tilt of his head that she should head that directions.

She did so as quickly as her battered body would allow. She took the first open seat, not far from where the girl that had saved her form falling, but then insulted her earlier was seated. She looked down at the plain white place setting in front of her, while tracking the people in her immediate vicinity out of her peripheral vision, and settled herself somewhat gingerly on the bench. The girl identified as Misha was across the table, and several people away, but pitched her voice so that she could be heard at that distance.

"Well Organza, I guess that waif you saved from the stairs got sorted here rather than Hufflepuff as you had guessed. But she's a nobody, how would that possibly happen?"

"Misha – I certainly have no idea. My mother almost sent me to Beauxbatons, because she said that the old traditions were being tromped down by the mudbloods who won the war. While everyone is relieved that the reign of the dark lord had ended, we certainly shouldn't just associate with whomever."

She looked up from her plate to give the two girls a short, but intense, considered observation. There were so many emotions roiling around, it was hard to pinpoint just the ones that belonged to these two, and her pain was not helping. She sensed anxiety and disdain from the girls, but by far the anxiety was stronger. She had seen this before – attacking others to escape fear. It was ridiculous. It never worked. It always harmed. She had never figured out why people did that. Couldn't they feel that when you harmed other, the little piece it tore from yourself? She sighed. The world was crazy and unfair. The two girls flipped their noses in the air and turned to await more Slytherins. She looked at her plate slowly; as she sensed the boy who had been standing take the seat next to hers.

"Austin, Austin Murphy. Fifth year prefect, and student head of house. You're Ms. Kearns – what's your first name?"

She looked up sideway at the boy, eyes catching his for a moment and considered his question. Sitting down had eased the pain in her side somewhat, but not enough. She needed to rest now, and she needed some water. This boy, was he dangerous?

"I don't have one." She stated quietly. For the first time staring looking him straight in the eye. She quickly dropped her eyes back to her plate.

Austin remained silent. His bright blue-green eyes considering her, his face remained almost expressionless.

"I see, I don't think you understand the question. Down across the table to your left, you seem to have caught the attention of one Misha Nott and Organza Parkinson, not that they have any redeeming qualities mind you," he explained. "We are in the same house and Slytherin's stick together. You may call me Austin. Now, your first name?" he asked quietly.

She looked up at the boy in the eyes again, trying to get a sense of his place. She felt patience, a twinge of very weak curiosity and something softer, more deliberate. Not pity, but maybe something similar. She was confused, and wary.

Austin studied her quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of one lip that he resisted. He was serious about his responsibilities, and the pathetically small creature beside him was trembling she was so nervous. She seemed vulnerable, and yet somehow incredibly strong. He was reminded of Kimberly, his small sister, snatched away for service to the Dark Lord. He had been twelve; it was 5 years ago. He still missed her – his parents had finally told him she had been given the ultimate honor- that of being used in a ceremony to the dark lord. His own child hood had died that day. He felt this girl knew pain, a kindred soul. He could see it in her eyes when she met his, never staying long, but looking through him forever, searching as if lost in nothingness, and yet knowing more than a look could ever reveal. For all of that, she was a tiny under fed and very poor little girl; his protective side flared.

"I understood. I don't have a first name." she replied quietly to the prefect.

The conversation was interrupted as the table was joined by 2 more young new Slytherins-these both boys. Austin made introductions – Misha and Organza greeting the two boys formally, but not so much as sparing a glance for Kearns.

"This is Kearns" said Austin to the duo. She hadn't paid attention – she hadn't heard their names. No one ever introduced her. She looked up quickly at Austin in surprise and not a small bit of apprehension.

"Kearns?" Austin said, thoroughly confused at the scared eyes that met his. She glanced at the new comers; they looked at her slightly interested, but not malevolently. Mostly happily excited and anticipatory, with a bit of worry. She didn't know what to do. She took her eyes back suddenly to the safety of her plate.

"She's a bit shy," he explained to the other two.

"Well," replied Organza, having overheard the conversation the prefect had with the small girl "not like she needs to talk to anyone. No one even bothered to give the girl a name. She can't be of much importance. Even my house elves have names," the girl sniffed. "I bet she is just an orphan."

Austin was appalled, but the girl beside him didn't react. There was nothing in her demeanor that changed. He was rescued from the awkward silence that followed by the headmistress's announcement.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. Before we begin the welcoming feast, we have a few announcements. We have new faculty – kindly welcome Mr. Eugene Savoy as our new Defense of the dark arts instructor. Those of you returning, please welcome our first years and new professors, and make them feel at home. The forbidden forest is off limits to all students not in the company of a teacher. And for the first time, Zongos and Weasley products are not banned; however, students caught enjoying them in a manner thought inappropriate by any staff member will be volunteered for 1 week to serve as a test subject for the new products division for the offending product's company. Should your parents complain, you can serve a month's detention with our caretaker instead. Now let's eat." The stern witch gave a brief, cold smile and took her seat. Food glittered into existence onto the tables.

She heaved a sigh of relief. She had made it. Roasted chicken with new potatoes, warm rolls with butter and honey, green beans and something's she had yet to identify graced the table. A glass of water and a smaller glass of milk materialized before her plate. She closed her eyes briefly against the overwhelming sense of relief and took her water glass, sipping carefully. She was desperately thirsty, but her stomach was off. Her side was aching, and she knew if she drank quickly she would just be ill. Organza, however, had not tired of her target. "So Kearns, what scholarship are you here on? Orphans of the war or mudblood orphans for peace or…"

Austin interrupted her coldly. "We're Slytherin's, firstie. That means we stick together. That means we don't insult each other at dinner. Or make fun of those who are different than us. This will be your only warning Organza – prefects can give detention, and believe me when I say I know the most unpleasant ones to assign."

"Organza, not that we will have to talk to her, but we should give her a name besides Kearns. I mean, I don't want to be rude, and I will not call an orphan 'Ms.' Anything," replied Misha, regarding Austin in a cold, authoritative way.

"You don't think that is rude, too, Ms. Nott" asked the prefect coldly.

She continued to sip her water. Her stomach had almost settled enough for the milk, but she didn't think she could take the food yet. She glanced at the boy who was defending her out of the corner of her eye. No one had ever once done that before. Why did this boy do this now? What did he want? She felt his anger, tinged with impatience, and his dread. What was he dreading?

"I am not an orphan." She stated quietly, glancing at the two younger boys across the table from her. Her cheeks tinged with pink just as theirs did – they both looked embarrassed and now that she stopped to sense she could feel embarrassment edging in with their excitement and nerves. She carefully replaced her water glass, and glanced at Austin again, who was again studying her.

"I don't care what they call me. Kearns is fine. It won't matter anyway." She said resignedly, and sipped at her milk next.

"You don't care what people call you?" replied the taller of the two boys across from her.

"Eric, shush!" his friend hissed, eyeing the prefect warily.

"No." Kearns replied flatly.

"But what if they call you something terrible, like girl, or freak?" he asked, ignoring his friend.

"Well, then they show what they are, don't they? I can stay away then. Why would I care what such a person said?" she replied, confusion tinting her voice as she felt incredulity tinge the emotions of the boys.

"Oh, that's rich." mumbled Misha. "Freak might fit."

"Detention" snapped Austin, having enough cheek from the first years. It was not too uncommon for the wealthier ones to push boundaries, and have to learn their place, but truly this was too much. Never had he heard of somebody getting detention at the first night's feast. But in his 5 years in Slytherin, he had never heard someone be so rude openly at dinner.

Professor Savoy studied his house's table between bites of dinner and murmured replies as the vaguely participated in the conversations of his colleagues. He watched as the food appeared. From his previous lifetime, he knew that what appeared on the table changed based on what the house elves sensed. A sick or injured child would get different things nearby; a food allergy would get a special meal. If the child was homesick, sometimes a home spun dessert, often the child's favorite would appear. One could learn a good deal from the table, if once was observant. He stopped himself from wincing as he saw the small waif named Kearns had extra glasses in front of her. No juice – just water and milk. He looked around. Sure enough, no other children had milk. And while a few had water, it was because they had filled a goblet for themselves, not been provided one. Only the blandest of dinner close by too. He watched as the prefect – Austin Murphy was his name, if memory served from his 3rd year students from 2 years ago, the boy squared his shoulders and leaned closer to her; a distinctly protective gesture. The huffing of a young blond first year distinctly caught his attention.

Organza's eyes narrowed in anger. "I won't serve detention!" she hissed. "That isn't fair. I didn't say anything that anyone could hear."

"Fine" replied the prefect, "if you think it is unfair, how about I send a letter to your parents detailing what you said, at the dinner table, in front of everyone, and if they deem your manners were worthy of your status, you won't have to serve the detention after all. Does that seem fair?" A smile touched Austin's lips, but it didn't reach his eyes, where were also narrowed in anger.

Kearns was on her fourth sip of milk. She felt the tension in Austin building as his anger grew. Why was he protecting her? The entire thing seemed to be spiraling out of control, and she was so confused by the protective nature of the boy. Her stomach wasn't settling has she had hoped with the milk. She needed to stay calm – she needed calm. How to get it?

Organza sat up straighter, her jaw falling open, and Kearns looked up just in time to see Misha's eyes widen in fear. Shock ran through both girls, and the boys apprehension seemed to lessen somewhat, and the boy next to Eric tried to turn an amused snort into a cough. "So we should call you Kearns?" he asked, glancing quickly at the prefect to be sure he didn't draw his ire.

Kearns simply shrugged her shoulders slightly, and carefully reached for the chicken with her uninjured side. She wasn't quite ready to try solid food yet, but if she got the chicken now, she could try to eat some, once it cooled enough. Her hand was shaking too badly to pick up the plate. Austin noticed and swept in to help.

"Here, that's a bit heavy." He said brusquely, assisting the quaking girl.

"I mean, we could make up a name – a nice name" interjected the boy across from her quickly after drawing the sharp glance of the prefect. "I call my kid sister Beka, rather than Rebecca, you know?" he explained, red tinting his cheeks again, and climbing steadily.

Kearns glanced up quickly from the chicken that she was delicately removing from the platter, startled.

Austin appeared to be watching the young boy across from him, but was actually tracking the young girl beside him.

"Martin, do you have a suggestion?" he replied neutrally.

"Oh, a 'pet' name, how appropriate, crooned Misha, not trying to hide her sarcasm.

"I bet we could come up with just the thing," replied Organza, a sharp gleam coming in her eye.

"I am warning you two," growled Austin as he watched Kearns eyes go suddenly blank, withdrawn and seek her plate, downcast once again. He sighed. She looked beyond lost, like this. She looked positively lifeless. Even her fearful nature was better than this.

Kearns could feel a malevolent excitement building in the two girls. She had felt this before. Bullies. Mean spirited bullies. She heard the name 'Pet' before. Some men had called her that when she was younger… were these girls that bad? She needed a distraction, something to turn this away from her! Her breath was growing shorter, and the room seemed much warmer. Her stomach roiled. She thought she would be ill, but oh, how she needed not to be ill!

"Not a 'pet' name," Martin said scathingly, "a nick-name, an endearment, we're all Slytherins, yeah? Family, like, right?" he said, nerves made his voice shake slightly, and his friend came to his rescue.

"That's right. We're mates now, aren't we? We should give you a good mate's name." said the boy next to him, watching the small girl reach for her milk glass slowly without taking her eyes from her plate. Martin glanced at her plate, noticing it contained one small drumstick, two small round boiled potatoes without cream or butter of any kind, and a small roll.

"Well, you eat like a bird, so how about Robin?" He suggested, not unkindly.

"Oh, that's terrible, that's a boy's name. How about Cosette" suggested Misha? Kearns shuddered. There was something sly in her, calculating. She didn't want that name.

"Cosette? C'est français pour le petit animal favori, n'est-ce pas?" replied Austin coldly.

"Murphy is a line as pure blood as yours, and you weren't the only one with a French tutor. Don't be so clever, or you might get a second detention," replied Austin.

"How about Kerry? Kerry Kearns" suggested Adam, seemingly liking the alliteration.

Austin shook his head with a small smile. "Murphy is an Irish line – descended from the original Murphy, as in Murphy's Law. Muggles think that's all a luck thing, but actually Manfred Murphy was a wizard from my line from 700 years ago. His 'law' was that if you crossed him he'd get you with the strongest bad luck hex anyone had ever seen. The family thinks it's a gift that runs along the line," he said, glancing mischievously at the misbehaving girls across from him that suddenly looked more somber. "Kerri means 'dark haired' – doesn't fit."

"How about "Tawny," inquired Misha, "it suits her coloring," receiving a sharp glare from Organza for participating in a positive way. Well, that proves who the brains are in that duo, thought Austin.

"Tawny, as in lions? He replied quietly. "We are Slytherins after all".

Professor Savoy surveyed his table with growing concern. It was obvious that the wealthier children had targeted Ms. Kearns. He relaxed slightly as the two first year boys obviously entered the fray, if not in favor of Ms. Kearns then neutral. And Austin's demeanor was not slackening in its protectiveness.

"Five points to Slytherin for Mr. Murphy's thoughtfulness" he whispered quietly. The sharp eared headmistresses glanced suddenly at her new DADA professor. And her eyes followed his gaze without his awareness. Ah. The little one, she thought, he's a protective one. Nothing wrong with that, or for valuing the bravery of a child who stands up to a peer. Her esteem for the man climbed a small step, even as a pang of loss for another, dark haired man who whispered many such praises seemingly unknown into the evening air. She averted her eyes quickly as Professor Savoy chose that moment to stand.

"Excuse me Headmistress, but the small girl seems off her food, and peaked to me. I'd rather just check on her a bit more closely before she is crammed into the halls. If she has a flu or some illness, best to get her out of the group before we have our hands full."

"I doubt it is too much to be concerned, with, but I remember my first year, and seeing the wee ones thinking they would break any moment. You will get over it in time, I am sure, but feel free," smiled the woman agreeably at her newest professor.

Professor Savoy hid his irritation behind a mask of slight nervousness. Completely fake, of course, but it would make Minerva suspicious if the 'new' teacher was perfectly calm. He spun, a little ire rising at the headmistresses as he made his way to the far side of the table. That was indeed Minerva's downfall with her students. Assuming that all was as it appeared, and that children needed no intervention. Not that it would likely stop her idiot lions anyway. He quietly approached from the girl, studying her carefully as he quietly approached. He paused, but 10 feet away to study her for a moment. The students, so wrapped up in their conversations, had not noticed their professor approach.

Still anxious, Kearns was quietly relieved to have the topic on names, and took a moment to taste the potatoes. They were sweet in her mouth; she didn't remember the last time anything had ever tasted so good. She chewed the small bit carefully, washing it down with a sip of milk, hoping it would stay there.

"Are there any snake names?" replied Misha acidly.

"Isn't that what Misha means?" replied Adam, trying to look innocent.

Austin raised an eye brow as Misha's cornflower blue eyes snapped in anger.

"So I get detention for being rude, and you let him speak to a lady at the table like that?" demanded the girl officiously of the prefect.

"I am a Slytherin. You are a Slytherin. How is being referred to as snake like an insult, exactly, asked Austin?

Finding no quarter from the trio of boys and no sport in the small girl who hadn't so much as looked up in several minutes, Organza turned bodily away from the group, and addressed a tall slim brunette on the other side of Misha. Another first year, Morganna seemed relieved to talk to some of her year mates, rather than the older second and third years surrounding her.

Kearns took a small bite of the chicken. It was succulent, and still slightly warm, although she had left it to cool on her plate some time. She took a second bite, and knew that anything more would be unwise. Her stomach hurt, and her side ached. It was entirely too hot in the hall, and her head was throbbing. Older injuries in her wrist and ribs were starting to make themselves known, and she was completely exhausted. Glad to be out of the glare of the two girls, the boys were quietly discussing names, while Austin had turned to a year mates on his left to inquire about their summer. She picked up her glass of water, not to drink more and invite disaster, but to make sure she looked busy at the table. She shuddered again. This time not from fear or the emotions she sensed roiling around, but from some internal source, of fatigue and pain. Her physical hunger sated, she now just desperately wanted to rest. She closed her eyes. She sensed ease and warmth from the older boy to her side, but obviously in no way connected to her, and happy excitement from the boys across from her. She realized that the haughtiness of Misha was covering pain and loneliness, a sense of small worth. Small worth? Why the girl was physically gorgeous, and look at her clothes – obviously someone held her in high regard. What would she not feel worthy about, she wondered. She felt a pang of pity, and then picked up on an intense sense of curiosity, observance, and calm. Perhaps a hint of worry, from behind her. But she sat at the edge of the table, back to the aisle, then a wall, and while the feast was winding down there should be no one there, she thought. Eyes still closed she strained to hear a foot fall, to see if the emotions that she felt were imagined. When anger and anxiety entered the picture, she turned around in her seat as quickly as her battered body would allow the movement.

Grey eyes narrowed with fear and trying to penetrate the adult that had so stealthily approached her met with calculating grey blue. She didn't address him, nor did she move, simply watching, waiting for him to make the first move.

"I know," said Martin whimsically," we can call her Kimmy. You know, like L'il Kim, the American rapper?"

"Did she ask for a name," enquired a deep authoritative voice in front of the boys. They looked up suddenly, seeing their head of house looming close by, speaking to them, but gazing steadily at Kearns, an unfathomable look on his face.

Kearns felt the anger in the man building, and did not know if it was directed at her or the boys. She saw his relaxed posture, and his warm face. His eyes held depth of emotion not seen in others. The hat had told her to trust this man that he had returned. But didn't the headmistress address him as the new professor? She looked away suddenly, closing her eyes against the sudden urge to vomit, taking a long breath. Out of the corner of her eye, as she turned her head, she caught the glimpse of a silhouette, not quite a ghost, overlaid with the image of the teacher. The ghost like irate was a bit tall, a bit thinner, and dark – dark eyes and hair. Was she hallucinating?

Ms. Kearns, are you well," he asked quietly? Austin, hearing his new head of house address the girl turned and watched the interchange in silence.

"I think I just need to lie down," she replied quietly, hoping to slip away to rest, and to hide from this man's penetrating gaze.

"It has been a long day for all of you, I daresay, he said slowly "but you will no doubt humor me. Did you ask for a name?" he replied, thinking that these children has some explaining to do coming up with taunts before the first feast was even out.

"No sir." She paused, not sure how to continue, since she hadn't been paying attention when the boys revealed their surnames to her. Thinking quickly she covered, "However, Martin and Eric were kind enough to try to think of one for me when they found I had only s surname, so that I could return the favor of first names amongst my new friends," she replied quietly, blushing at the small lie, and hoping that this would keep the two boys that showed her kindness out of trouble.

"Sir, she didn't object, and the exercise seemed harmless enough," explained Austin, wanting his young charges not to suffer consequences when he didn't intervene.

"So exactly why did I find you speaking about the qualities of Slytherin as I approached?" inquired the professor carefully, blue grey eyes latched onto the group as thought he mystery human existence could be solved by the next answer.

"Creepy" thought Austin, as he twisted uncomfortably. "Not everyone had the suggestion of a 'nice' name," replied Austin, trying to avert the professor's ire.

"I see. And what did these "not nice" people presume to suggest?"

"Cosette."

"So you all decided to focus on her physical attributes?"

"Well…"

"And how do you feel about this?" asked their professor of the small girl. She shrugged again. He hated shrugging. "A verbal answer if you please."

"I don't have a name. They may call me whatever they wish." She replied. She shocked herself by saying even more quietly "it's nice they would want me to have one."

He swallowed a bit thickly than he thought he would. No first name? Servant or slave, he thought to himself. And young for such a status. He sighed inwardly. She was small, and waif like. She had hardly touched her food, she looked feverish, and she was trembling and scared. He rather thought that if he wasn't standing between her and the door she would have bolted for the nearest exit already. She glanced at him again, with that same calculating, sweeping gaze, lingering for the briefest of moments, and then quickly back to her plate. She was obviously miserable, but had neither the will nor the inclination to seek comfort or care. He suddenly realized that there was a very real possibility that she could have known neither in her life.

"And the other recommendations?" he asked blandly. He watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye.

"Uhm yeah, I mean yes sir." Answered Marin. "Robin, Kerry, Lynn, Tawny…" The boys trailed off at the man's' look of visible distaste.

"You are Slytherins, and that is the best you can do?" asked the professor, but a hint of amusement entering his yes. Austin shrugged helplessly.

"Ms. Kearns, I would like you to follow me through there," indicated the professor, waving a hand toward an archway near the teachers table, at the end of the hall. "There is a brief matter that I would like to discuss before you head to the dorms."

She looked him in the eye, considering, and after several moments nodded once, sharply.

"Oh, and is there a name you heard that you admired?" He asked, not unkindly.

"No, not really sir. Perhaps you have an idea?" she asked. She cringed inwardly. Why did she just say that? This man was in a position of power; would asking such a thing anger him?

He blinked back his surprise. The girl wanted him to name her? How absurd, he barely knew the girl.

"That ought to be done by your godparents."

"I don't' have any." she replied quietly, only vaguely aware that she actually didn't know if that was true or not.

Any humor that entered the professor's eyes quickly left. His scrutiny of her intensified for one long moment and then he surveyed the rest of the group.

"Jena. Call her Jena. He said decisively. And with a curt nod to the group he motioned abruptly with one hand that she should follow out into the entryway. The man turned on heel and strode briskly through the melee of students that had just begun leaving for the dorms, leaving the young girl he named to follow.


	5. Chapter 5 Falling

**Disclaimer:** Just checked my bank balance. Plenty of money there to make the mortgage – but not a single cent is there because I write fiction of any kind – especially no money for writing about characters and concepts that belong to JK Rowling, Warner Bros., or Sid, the guy playing piano at the corner of Pike & Post Alley. Also – this story is M for a reasons – adult situations, including mentions of abuse this chapter. Future chapters may or may not contain swearing, sexual situations, and pink ponies. You have been warned. If you are easily offended, I have already done so. If you are not easily offended, I am likely working on it. You have been warned. On to the story…

"_Jena. Call her Jena. He said decisively. And with a curt nod to the group he motioned abruptly with one hand that she should follow out into the entryway. The man turned on heel and strode briskly through the melee of students that had just begun leaving for the dorms, leaving the young girl he named to follow._

She rose as quickly as she could, which wasn't fast. Her head was spinning, and just when didn't want to sick up. She must have swayed a bit, because suddenly Austin had her by the elbow.

"He moves fast, Jena," Austin said, saying her name slowly, trying it out for the first time.

"You'd best hurry along."

"I am afraid I don't feel very well," she mumbled, trying to hurry as best as she could. "I don't think I can walk much faster than this."

Austin realized the girl was ill and getting worse. He would have to tell his head of house and get him to help her. He sighed. This was going to be a difficult night.

Professor Savoy strode through the entry way, and turned abruptly, and was surprised that the student he had just given a name was not immediately forthcoming. He had been clear in his directions, surely she hadn't chosen to dawdle, he thought, as a scowl touched his forehead. He could simply go to the doorway and check, but that would be unseemly. He would certainly give her notice that it was unwise to waste any of a professor's time.

It seemed to take much, much longer than it should for the young girl to enter the small entry chamber of the staff entrance. A brow arched toward his hairline as he noticed the prefect at her elbow.

"Shouldn't you be escorting your first years to the common room?" he asked mildly, noting that Austin's brow was drawn obviously in concern.

"Yes sir," he replied voice low and gentle, as if he was trying not to startle an injured animal, "but they all looked like they could make it, and Jena didn't. She said she wasn't feeling well."

Jena. He sighed, his earlier irritation at her slowness being replaced by resignation that this girl was going to need much of his attention in the near term.

"I'll take it from here, Mr. Murphy. See to her other year mates."

He watched as the prefect made his goodbyes to the small girl and went to take his leave. But as soon as the little bit of support at her elbow left, she swayed, and reached out blindly for the wall behind her. He almost stepped forward to keep her from falling but she regained her equilibrium and turned so her back was against the wall, and it was supporting most of her weight. Austin, sensing her about to fall halted his progress and he turned, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Ms. Kearns?" the professor said trying to get her attention. Her eyes were closed head slightly bowed, and her breathing was coming in short pant like breaths.

"Ms. Kearns," He said, putting a bit more force in his voice, allowing the edge of his impatience to slide through.

Jena had gasped out in pain as she reached for the wall, and spun to get her back and side supported. Nausea was crashing against her awareness in waves, and she struggled desperately not to be sick in front of the professor. He said something, but she couldn't quite concentrate on his words. He spoke again, and responding more to the tone than the actual words, she forced her head up and eyes open and looked directly into the intense gaze of the blue-grey eyes that had become steely. The look scared her – she quickly tried to sense his mood, and felt worry with a hint of regret perhaps a touch of impatience. She was wasting this man's time she realized.

"I'm sorry" she said, looking into the man's eyes. Spots had started swimming in her vision. Her trembling had intensified.

Austin watched the desperate girl start to shake uncontrollably. She seemed to be drawing into herself, both physically, and the light in her eyes, shining brightly, was starting to grow flat and unseeing. He felt a lump in his throat.

"Jena." Austin said voice strained, approaching her, and placing a comforting hand on her small shoulder. She flinched. He must have startled her.

Professor Savoy considered the girl as she apologized. She was shaking now, and he watched the prefect return to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. He saw the flinch – his years in the company of death eaters put the motion into context immediately. She was not used to touch that wasn't inflicting pain.

"Jena, I need you to answer some questions, and I want you to be completely truthful. You are not in any trouble, and no one is going to harm you, so long as you answer truthfully. Will you do that?" Asked the professor, voice pitched softly, but tone completely void of any emotion.

She took a deep breath, and looked her professor in the eyes at close range for the first time. Now she could very definitely sense a silhouette at the field of her vision, overlaying the vision of the man in front of her. She must be hallucinating. He was going to question her – but how would he know if she was honest? Another wave of nausea swept her. Well, she knew that she would be confronted; she just thought she had more time than this. And her vision grew grey around the edges. She closed her eyes briefly and nodded in answer.

"Very good. Are you ill? Do you know what is wrong with you?" he asked, not unkindly.

The silly hat had told her to ask for help. Something she couldn't remember ever turning out well. She had promised to be honest, and there was no benefit to her in hiding the answer. She told the truth.

"I am not ill. I do know what is wrong with me – I'm hurt." she replied quietly, slowly opening her eyes as she did so to look at the professor and gage his reaction, perhaps anticipate his next question. However, the fuzziness at the edge of her vision closed in, and her vision seemed to be compromised of several small dots dancing around, much like the fuzz of an unturned TV station. She kept her gaze where she could barely make out the features of the professors face.

"Where are you injured, and how did you come to be that way?" Professor Savoy asked, not really expecting an answer.

"My side. I hurt here," she said, running a hand lightly over her injured side, "my father kicked me."

He was stunned by her admission. Abused children rarely told with so little provocation.

"He kicked you, why exactly and how much pain are you in? Can you walk to the infirmary?"

Why had her father kicked her? Spite? Drunkenness? She truly didn't know. When had it ever mattered? How did she tell him how much pain she was in – it was all she could think of now anyway, she couldn't formulate an answer? As to the infirmary, was it close? How could she know she would make it? Another wave of nausea slammed into her and she closed her eyes once again.

"Ms. Kearns, I expect an answer," replied the professor, when she once again closed her eyes.

She opened them, but her eyes appeared to be unseeing to him, he couldn't do a full round of legilimancy wandless, but he certainly could get to the surface thoughts of a young child without much effort. His mind magic stepped effortlessly into her untrained mind. He nearly vomited. Sweet Merlin was this little one nauseous. He sensed her anxiety, a great deal of guilt, and dread. Her thoughts were murky, not well formed, and almost complete emotion. Obviously the child was in great distress. He also sensed concern, and fear, but it was odd, it seemed to be coming from outside their link. And he sensed discomfiture, impatience and worry. His own state he realized. But why would it feel like it's coming from him in her mind he thought bewildered? He felt her magic, small and strained, flurry around.

She opened her eyes, but her vision was gone.

"I know I am not supposed to be here, but I just need to rest." she begged desperately, her arms shaking from the effort of keeping her lean back against the wall. She felt something rip inside her gut, and her mouth fell open in a silent mimic of a scream. Her whole world faded to black and she knew no more.

"Mr. Murphy, if you please, lead us to the infirmary, now!" He would follow the boy to explain how he got there so quickly. The boys face had drained of all color; his eyes reflecting terror. With the briefest of hesitations, he turned, and ran. Professor Savoy didn't bother to register his surprise; not at the lightness of the girl – did she weigh even 60 pounds?; not at the behavior or reaction of the prefect; nor that he had instinctively knew that speed was the essence, or that the professor could match the run of a teen half his age with his burden.

The run went blindingly fast, but still felt agonizingly slow. Apparently, the prefect was nearly as proficient with the twists and turns of the castle as he himself was, a fact that he tucked in his brain for a time when he could focus. The trembling in his arms had lasted what seemed like only seconds before the girl fell completely still. Her skin was clammy. He desperately hoped he was not too late.

"Madam Pomfry!" he heard the boy yell as he broke through the doors, panic clear in his young voice. As he broke through the doors himself, he could see the kindly matron attending another first year who was looking a bit peaked; a victim of free access to the rich food and deserts of the opening feast. Her obvious annoyance at the boy's less than decorous entry was somewhat mitigated when she saw the worried face of the professor behind carrying the small girl. She opened her mouth to say something, but something in the way the feet and arms dangled told her this was more than just an illness or minor injury. She hurried to the pair, motioning to the nearest bed and drawing a wand.

"I think she stopped breathing," he said, his own breath wispy and short from the run with his burden.

"What happened?" questioned the matron sharply waving her wand in a silent spell as she checked for the girls pulse.

"She fell ill suddenly after the feast. She said she was injured, somewhere near her ribs."

The matron face set in grim determination. The girl had a pulse, but it was thin, thready and irregular. The news from her diagnosis spell was grim. She was bleeding internally, and perhaps had a ruptured spleen. Her magic had been sustaining her, and it was mostly depleted. She needed surgery; and even magical surgery was dangerous, and beyond the matron.

"Stay with her. I need to flue St. Mungos" she said urgently, rushing to her office.

Professor schooled the surprise from his expression. In his former life, he had been treated by the diligent matron for his many injuries, and while occasionally requiring the assistance of his mentor, she had never called in an actual healer before. Professor Savoy took the girl's limp, clammy hand that had started to cool. He surprised himself. This was a level of comfort his old self would never have provided. She wasn't dead yet, thankfully, but he felt an overwhelming sense of regret. Why hadn't he intervened sooner? He had seen she was ill. But he had thought she was better off than she was. Apparently she had been through much, and could hide a great deal. He heaved a worried sigh, finally allowing his mind to catch up that the young prefect stood to his left, watching the tense scene. Showing concern for the small child openly was a new experience, but one he quickly became uncomfortable with in the presence of another.

"Mr. Murphy. Thank you for your clear thinking and quick reactions. You have conducted yourself most admirably this night. Ten points to Slytherin. You may retire to the common room and see to your other duties."

"Thank you Professor Savoy, but, would you mind sir, well-if I stayed sir, and made sure she was going to be ok first?" he asked. The boy's voice was strained. His blue eyes turned dark with emotion – which, the Professor was not quite sure.

What should he tell the boy? She would be fine? There was a very real chance that she would not be. He sighed – his old self would have sent the boy off; but he no longer needed to be the cold, callous potions master.

"Stay, if you will then. The other prefects are assisting the young ones?" he asked.

"Yes sir. Slytherins take care of their own," he informed the 'new' professor, an edge of pride coming into his voice.

Professor Savoy stifled a sneer – after all, this boy could not possibly know that he had been the head of house for 15 years. It galled him. Backing those thoughts behind his mental shields, he surveyed the deathly still form in front of him. Her chest was barely rising with each breath. Her hands twitched every so often, but other than that she seemed very, very still. It felt like hours before the matron returned, 3 green-robbed healers in tow, the lead one grizzled with a long beard rushing with surprising speed and strength behind the matron. He was followed by two much younger, wearing much paler green robes, one with a rucksack slung hastily over one shoulder; the other carrying w medium size trunk. 'Apprentices' he thought, wondering why the wizard had pulled a team from St. Mungos. Likely it was less than 10 minutes for them to appear, but the stress of the situation didn't let the professor be rational about the reality of the wait.

"Why didn't you stop for tourists, while you were at it?" he snapped, knowing full well that grabbing the apprentices had cost precious minutes.

"My team was with me, young man, now step aside!" barked the healer without a glance at the professor. A wand was pulled hastily from the rich, simple green healers robe, and ran in a complicated motion over the girl.

"Morgan, please perform a sterilization charm. The girl needs immediate surgery and cannot be moved. Anna, please prepare her for surgery why I gather some potions."

Professor Savoy had started to move away. He motioned to the perfect to precede him out the door; but a lifetime of habit made him pause at the word 'potions'. He made to move through the door, but the voice of the mediwitch stopped him in his track.

"I told you to bring potions, Healer McGavick. What is it you need?" she stated, stress and exasperation clear in her voice.

Professor Savoy turned part way back, carefully observing the exchange.

"We brought an anesthetic and a stasis potion. She just need blood replenishers, healing potions, nutritive potions; things you would clearly have on hand. Now show me to your stores, or bring me a selection as we prepare." he said curtly.

Professor Savoy watched, hiding his astonishment as the Matron turned on heel without a word, and hurried toward what he knew to be the potion stores. He could tell by the set of her shoulders that something other than the health of her patient had her out of sorts. Should he follow? It might compromise his cover; a glance at the small child being magically disrobed and draped for magical surgery moved his feet to follow the matron against his better intentions.

"Madam, can I assist in anyway?" he asked quietly, as he watched her, hands trembling rummage in the cupboard. He was perplexed. She was moving aside clearly new potions, reaching behind the stock for bottles at the very back of the shelves.

"Hire a potions master that isn't blind and lazy or a fool" she muttered under her breath, but the man had been a spy for too many years. He caught her words, but didn't respond.

"We need the best possible potions for a child so sick," she finally returned briskly, composing herself. "It would assist me greatly if you would look for the potions with a black wax seal and two entwined serpents in the shape of the letter S. They should be to the very back."

Only years of being a spy kept the surprise from his face. Those were his potions; brewed almost two years ago, perhaps longer. Certainly, they couldn't be still effective, and if they were not completely stale or magicless, surely the fresher potions would be much better? A puzzle, and they had no time for them; he started to comply, but couldn't help by quietly asking her about the puzzle.

"Madam, forgive me, but wouldn't these in front be fresh enough? Are these out of date?" he inquired, knowing full well the matron normally put the oldest to the front.

"Fresh, yes. But Merlin knows who brewed them, how potent they are, and whether or not they will have any foul side effects." she replied sourly, her eyes crinkling with the strain as she reached far back from a very low shelf.

"Does your potion master not brew for you then," he asked struggling to keep the incredulity from his voice.

"Oi." she said she as she straightened, shooting the DADA professor a furious glance. "Yes, when she can be bothered with it. Those are the ones I want to be certain the girl doesn't get." she muttered, hurrying over with the potions bundled securely in her arms.

Following mutely behind the matron, he carefully put on a mask of neutrality, refraining from examining the potions nestled gently in the crooks of his arms, like some long forgotten friends returned by miracle. He saw the older of the two apprentices raise her wand and a wall of white screens formed a large oval around the hospital bed, making a private operating theatre of sorts. They transferred the potions to the younger apprentice who was waiting outside the screens.

"The surgery shouldn't be long. Perhaps an hour, two at the most." he explained. "We will let you know the prognosis then".

"How can you be certain it won't take longer?" asked the mediwitch, her brow furrowing more deeply as puzzlement added to her frustrations.

"I don't think she will make it if it does," replied the apprentice sadly. New to the profession, he hadn't developed the demeanor to hide his anguish.

"Madame, if I can be of no further immediate use, will you notify me when the surgery is done? I would like to know the outcome before attempting to contact her family." asked Professor Savoy.

"In the meantime, I can see that my house is settled."

"Of course," she murmured, but he could tell the bulk of her focus was no her very ill charge.

"I would also be pleased if you would perhaps have a cup of tea with me this evening, before you retire?" he asked cautiously. He would need to ask about the procedures on such an event, he realized, as Professor Savoy shouldn't know. Not a complete waste, he thought, as there was much more to this potion question. His love of potions suppressed, but never far from his mind; it was too much of a mystery to allow him to leave it alone, even for his own sake. She nodded absently in acquiescence. He could do no more for the girl but wait. He spared a glance at the teen who had waited at the infirmary door. His face was pale, his expression guarded. The matron had stepped back from the screens, observing the surgery carefully, in the event she could be of any use.

Professor Savoy motioned for his Prefect to precede him out of the infirmary. He saw something dark emotion, perhaps pain, enter the boy's eyes as he turned to leave. The only took a few steps into the hallway, before the DADA professor placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, surprising him. And he realized, surprising himself. Had he changed so much really? Was he concerned about this boy, too? What was this boy to him?

"I appreciate your concern for the child." he started quietly and awkwardly, not certain of the emotions that had made him touch the boy, or what exactly he wanted to communicate.

"We will do our best for her," he continued, "You can be of assistance, if you wish to be."

The boy swallowed thickly and nodded. "I had a sister about her age. I couldn't be there for her… well, not in the end anyway." The boy's blue green eyes sparkled brightly with tears that he was struggling to hold back.

"Sir, do you think, that perhaps, well, if we help others, it will…" he paused, struggling for words, "Well, anyhow, somehow make up for something we should have done, or should have been before?"

Atonement?" Professor Savoy whispered. "No. Past is past. And at 16, I doubt you have a sin so great that you need to spend your energy in search of such a release." The boys shoulders tensed, and his eyes became more guarded. The professor wanted this boy to trust him; and he wanted to help him. Why, he wondered, but was not certain? He cocked his head, considering the boy.

"But each act we choose to do may ease the hurt, the grief little by little. And in time you will find that perhaps a single action is indeed meaningless when considered. But a life, a life of living for the betterment of all life, that is something better than atonement. That is legacy." he replied quietly, not sure where the words were coming from, or why he was finding his throat was similarly restricted as the boy's.

"Now a lesson on authority and responsibility. We must put Ms. Kearns temporarily out of our minds. We will be here the moment she needs us to attend her, but for now we will use the pause to see to our other charges. This way, Mr. Murphy."

The teen gave him a grateful albeit sad half smile and preceded him deep into the dungeons.


	6. Chapter 6 Meet the Slytherins

**Disclaimer: **By claiming that I don't want to get sued or flamed, I am dis-claiming that I had anything to be gained by writing this fan fiction. I did not impose on Ms. Rowling's livelihood, or the livelihood of another multibillion dollar conglomeration. Of course, that just goes to prove that the intrinsic value of self expression, sharing your art with peers, and generally wasting a perfectly good afternoon are completely lost on society. Pity. On with the story...

"_Now a lesson on authority and responsibility. We must put Ms. Kearns temporarily out of our minds. We will be here the moment she needs us to attend her, but for now we will use the pause to see to our other charges. This way, Mr. Murphy."_

_The teen gave him a grateful albeit sad half smile and preceded him deep into the dungeons._

Professor Savoy was impressed with his young charge. He had shown true Slytherin virtues; cunning, leadership, looking out for the whole. In all his years of his previous life, he had never mentored, and never taken an apprentice. He shook his head ruefully. First the girl, and now the sickening display of sentimentality, then the speech about atonement, and now these confusing thoughts. He pushed the thoughts firmly out of reach, far behind his shields, and rehearsed what he would say to his 'new' house. Certainly, the past 15 years he had a very similar routine; but now was different. He knew his cover was the closest thing to perfect it could be, but he didn't want to take any chances.

Austin gave the password at the portrait of Salaazar Sytherin, and the portal opened. The first years were huddled on the hearth stone near the fire, as the middle years were scattered around the room, catching up with friends. The older ones were aloof, sitting like royalty at the far back of the room, clearly separating themselves. Professor Savoy suppressed a grimace. These were almost adults of families that had been torn asunder by the war. Their eyes were no longer the eyes of the hopeful young adults eager for a place in society, but rather the disenfranchised, the powerless, looking for an outlet for their angst, their bitterness. It would be a long year indeed. He had his work cut out to help these poor young adults comes to term with the mess their families' choices had made of their young lives.

"Mr. Murphy, can you assemble the remainder of our Slytherins?" he asked quietly, noticing that few if any of the students had noticed the entrance of an adult.

"Yes, Professor Savoy." He replied and moved of into the dormitories. The professor quietly observed as a few students started to take notice of his presences and the voices began to quiet while curious glances where thrown his direction. A few students started to trickle out from the dorms, but none too quickly. He had never been a patient man, and one of the things about his new persona he was indeed trying to change was to appear more patient. But if he was honest with himself, the emotional stress of returning to his home, compounded with the ordeal with the child in the infirmary was pushing his resolve.

"Besides Mr. Murphy, where are the other prefects?" he asked out into the open room, keeping his voice neutral, but putting enough edge into it to let the student's know delay would not be tolerated. At the far back of the room. A tall, blocky framed boy with a square jaw, and sandy blond hair raised a hand over his head, waiving lackadaisically at his head of house. A few students snickered. A girl, with chestnut brown hair was sitting on the couch finished her conversation before glancing disdainfully shoulder, offering a shrug, and waiving over to him as well. His seventh year prefects. Delightful, he thought sarcastically.

"I appear to be missing 3." He said to the room at large. A helpful third year finally piped up "They were helping stragglers get settled in, sir". His eyes flicked to the child. He gave the girl the barest hint of a smile and a brief nod in acknowledgement. He knew his Slytherins – this was not how they would have responded to his previous person. In fact, his previous incarnation would be blistering their ears off for their laizze fair attitude toward any authority figure, let alone their head of house. He would be fixing this in short order.

"I see," he said, giving a slow friendly smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "So my 5th and 6th year prefects are doing all the work, and my supposed leaders are laying about, or did you not just have your head of house call a house meeting?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

"Sir?" enquired the 7th year prefect by the fire. "I am certain you didn't tell me there was a house meeting tonight." She said, regarding him coolly through thick dark lashes.

"I see. A 7th year prefect who cannot deduce that when I tell another prefect to gather the house there is a house meeting. Perhaps the Professor I replaced saw something in you other than common sense to give you a position of authority?" he replied, not releasing the smile, but certain there was steel in his gaze.

"Let me be perfectly clear. I am calling a house meeting, now. Seventh year prefects, that means you stand up, tell your class mates, and have them assemble in a decorous manner in all due haste while treating the other students and myself with respect." Now. Go." He said. Both students stood abruptly and went down the hall to the dorms. It took 15 minutes to assemble the house. It was going to be a long, long evening he thought to himself tiredly.

He surveyed the assembled faces. Oh, how he longed for the ease of his previous persona. He cringed at the thought. Yes, the previous him, the angry, bitter potions master – who ruled by fear, and the students rushed at his call or felt his wrath. But that had just been a mask, too. Who was he? He sighed inwardly. That, was the question of the year, now wasn't it? He surveyed the assembled faces again. He saw the Deatheaters and affiliates of deatheater children. Some eyes sad, some angry; none innocent, none happy. He saw the insecurities of the first years, some obviously touched by the war and seemingly wise beyond their years, some fresh, innocent, and so alive. He saw the 2nd and 3rd years, awkward and gawky, with just a hint of the young men and women they would become in a few years. He wanted to make their lives better. At least better than his. And definitely better than the past. Maybe it didn't matter who he was now, as Professor Savoy. What mattered if he could heal these children, heal these souls? How to best do that? He didn't know, but starting to do something was better than idle. He would start here, now.

"Welcome to Slytherin. I am sure that several of you feel strange that a professor barely here a week is welcoming you to your own house." Savoy opened carefully kept his gaze unguarded and friendly, albeit stern. He made eye contact with several of the 7th years, and a few of the 6th, being sure to linger on the eyes of his prefect. "I have learned a great deal in the past three weeks of the young men and women who I now lead. I know the past 7 years have not been easy ones. I have sensed a bias, a thought that Slytherins are bigots, purebred, heartless, evil – only out for their own good. I also have learned that there are values; take care of your own, stick together, be proud of what and who you are, respect yourselves and others, and demand respect in return. These don't sound like the code of evil, or bigotry or narcissism. They sound like home; they sound like family. We are now a family of sorts, but Slytherin will have to change. As the head of this family, I am different than those who have led before. But in a real sense I am the same." He kept his mind firmly occluded to keep himself from smirking at the irony of that last statement. "I expect pride. Pride of accomplishment, pride in each other's accomplishment, proud to have the opportunity to show the bias to be what it is: a falsehood, a blaming on the whole for the terrible acts of a thoughtless few. I expect leadership. You will conduct yourselves to the assistance of those that have less than you; be it less experience, and the need to learn; less confidence, and the need to find ones principles and pride, less compassion, and the need for love and patience. In short, we will take care of each other."

"I also expect that you will not disappoint me. I will be disappointed if you have pride in that which you did not accomplish; I don't particularity mind if you honor your family, but to be proud of who you are without accomplishment because of a name is pure hubris; I will be disappointed if you ignore those around you who need you; or hurt those around you without cause. And I will be most disappointed at all if you don't stick together to be true to your house, your friends and yourself.

"And if we disappoint you?" enquired the 7th year prefect… Justin. Justin Abernathy. Wonderful thought Savoy sarcastically, but narrowed his gaze to the boy, allowing the smile to be whisked of his face, as the boy lazily tacked on the word 'sir' to his slow, drawling sentence.

"I will give you the opportunity to understand my disappointment," he replied quietly, "and an exercise to gain understanding." He replied vaguely. The prefect rolled his eyes.

"Your name?" he asked quietly.

"Abernathy." He replied, arrogance dripping from his voice.

"Your full name, Mr. Abernathy?" he replied, not changing his tone from the perfectly neutral pleasantry he had kept throughout.

"Justin Morton Ambrose Abernathy" replied the teen, slowly, as if speaking to someone very, very dull.

"Mr. Abernathy, and all of you," he replied "when you address me for the first time, I will expect you to introduce yourself. Now, it would appear that your former head of house did not teach you to respect authority, nor manners."

Well, he had, of course, but it was not unusual for children to test limits. But by disregarding the knowledge of his former self, he protected his identity all the more.

"That changes here. Mr. Abernathy, your tone and your behavior I have found disappointing. As promised, I will give you the opportunity to understand my disappointment. You must be rusty on your etiquette. So the opportunity to learn is granted you. I have found in my tenure as a teacher that you learn more by teaching than being a student in many cases. As such, you will start by leading the first of this year's study groups-yours will be on wizarding etiquette and decorum for the first through fourth years."

He noticed as the younger students shifted uncomfortably. He wondered if it was the dry topic or if Abernathy was already showing to be a bully to boot.

"I have the previous head of house's study group schedule. We will not be disbanding the Slytherin study group tradition." He heard some quiet complaints. Not a popular decision. Well, this was a school, not a social club. "Oh, and Mr. Abernathy, I expect at the end of this week for your study groups to have met at least twice, have had a reading assignment, a 1-foot essay, and those essays to be graded and on my desk by Sunday 5 pm. Any questions?"

The tall boy had straightened indignantly as his brain quickly calculated how much of his free time was going to be taken with this duty. This was worse than a week of detentions. His eyes flashed with anger, and a hot retort came to his tongue, but died there. Would he really want to push beyond this?

"Yes sir."

"Deliver them in person." he replied quietly, noticing the boys eyes were flashing in anger. Hopefully a week to think of his poor attitude and having to gardener respect from the study groups will give him some perspective.

"Now, as all of you may infer, there will be study groups that are required, and study groups that are optional. You will each meet with me once a month and I will spend at least one evening a week in the common room to be available to you. If you are sick, injured, or having difficulties that you cannot manage, I expect to be notified. By you. Not your friends, nor your prefects. You. First and second years will be assigned a mentor. Sixth and Seventh years – you will be mentoring. First years will also have a skills assessment this week, which will be administered by myself and the prefects. That will be Thursday evening. Are there any questions?"

"Sir, what about Kearns? She didn't come down with us." asked a first year. He narrowed his eyes at the boy. "Oh, um, sorry sir. Martin Dunleavy, uh… first year." A few of the older students twitters at the unnecessary addition of his year in school.

"Ms. Kearns is unwell, and in the infirmary. I will be asking Mr. Murphy to be her mentor; however, she may be a few days in joining us. I will expect you all to help her catch up and settle in."

Another first year hand shot up. "Organza Dewitt, Professor Savoy. If she is ill, did we get exposed to some awful muggle disease, or some parasitic street person thing?' she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

He considered her coolly for a very long moment. What a conceited little twit, he thought. "If your health was jeopardized, you would already know," he replied stiffly. He bit back a harsher retort. After all she was a first year, and he was trying to be less acerbic. But his patience was at an end.

"Prefects, you will find my notes on the study groups in folders with your names on them on the study table. I had intended to go over them with you tonight; however, more pressing matters pull me away. Mr. Abernathy, he said, turning his disapproving gaze on the young man, could you be so kind as to introduce me to your counterpart, he said, nodding to the young lady with the thick brunette waves of hair that had barely moved from her place by the fire, obviously aware of the effect of the backlighting of the fire had on highlighting her features. Vain, he thought.

"Professor Savoy, may I introduce Brandylnn Sarisbury, Ms. Sarisbury, the estimable Professor Savoy, replied the Prefect, the light sneer on his lip and the drawl in his tone combining with the overdone manners to turn the introduction into a slur. Brandylynn said nothing.

"You two 'leaders' will gather the prefects and finalize the study groups before I return. I will hold you two personally responsible if it is not completed." He said scowling at them darkly. The brunette, nodded, face still blank. "Should be simple since the other prats have to do what we say." muttered Justin. Sharp hearing however picked up the comment.

"I will check that a consensus was reached." stated the professor, eyes flashing. "Play to your strengths."

"When will you return," he narrowed his eyes dangerously at the cheeky prefect. "We have classes you know."

"Whenever I may return, you will deeply regret it if you aren't sitting right here waiting for me." The other prefects blanched at the lowering of the man's tone.

"Do you think that's wise, keeping the leadership fatigued given how much help you have asked for?" asked Justin.

"Oh, Mr. Abernathy, you misunderstood. The others may retire when their duties are done. You however, will be waiting for me."

"And if I'm not?" he challenged haughtily. Professor Savoy actually smiled. He had finally gotten a direct challenge to his authority, a broken rule. It had taken a bit, but here it was. "The the second detention you serve will be at the bequest of the new 7th year prefect."

"What?!" spluttered the irate teen. "You are giving me two detentions and taking by badge, for what?"

"No, I am giving you one detention for your cheek, which you have clearly earned. If you then disobey my order, there will be a second detention. If you require one project and two detentions to learn to respect your professors, then you don't need a badge. Have I made by self perfectly clear?"

"Crystal."

Professor Savoy turned on heel. He needed to advise the headmaster of the young lady fighting for her life in the hospital wing.


	7. Chapter 7  Trouble Brewing

Disclaimer: Nothing from Harry Potter is mine yet. I have tried visualizing my overthrowing the Rowling empire much as the athletes at the Olympics visualize winning… doesn't work very well for them, either – only 1 out of how man get gold? Dumb plan.

I read a lot of fan fiction… and hate pleas for reviews. You see, I figure you are all smart enough to know if an author is posting their work here that there is a pretty good chance they want a review. So I am not going to spend the energy tell you that. Really! I'm not. Not even going to remind you about the big blue button that says "submit a review". On with the story….

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Professor Savoy reached the gargoyle guardian of the Headmistress's office. He held back a sigh as he gave the password "ragdoll'. It would appear that Minerva was using species of feline where the previous headmaster had used candies. He felt a pang of longing. He missed Dumbledore so much in some ways. He smiled ruefully to himself as the moving stairway brought him to the top of the tower. He certainly didn't miss the incessant meddling.

He knocked and heard a brusque 'enter'. The office was much less cluttered than before. It held books, a few tasteful figurines, and dark green furnishings. The desk was the same. He was startled to see Dumbledore's face studying him from the portrait on the wall, blue eyes dancing merrily.

"Professor Savoy, already in a quandary?" inquired the headmistress, not looking up from the scroll she was perusing.

"No. Not a quandary. But I am afraid I have to report dire circumstances for one student. Of course I had familiarized myself for procedures for common illnesses and the like, but Ms. Kearns collapsed. The healer that Madam Pomfrey summoned from St. Mungos suspects a ruptured spleen." He almost smiled when the headmistress head snapped up in surprise, eyes widening. "It is unclear if she will survive the emergency surgery. I am afraid that I am not as clear with the more remote possibilities in the school regulations. I seem to recall I was to tell you immediately, and then reach the parents with all due haste if it seemed prudent. In this instance, since the child implicated her parent as the reason for her injuries, I think it would be wise to delay the parental notification. But I of course will defer to your greater experience in the matter."

"Oh dear. I apologize for my earlier flippancy. Ms. Kearns, you say? Filius informed me that she didn't have a Christian name, is this true?"

"Ms. Kearns indeed claims to have no knowledge of a name other than Kearns. Her classmates have dubbed her 'Jena', and she seems to have taken to the name." he replied, deliberately refraining from mentioning his role in the matter.

"What kind of parents do not name their child?" she asked, incredulity and anger clear in her voice.

"There is much to this puzzle, Headmistress. I was going to see how she fared with the surgery, and then go interview the parents. If it seemed prudent after the interview to inform them of their daughter's status, I can do so then. If not, I can simply alert the aurors office and file a complaint of child abuse with Wizarding family services…not unless there is something I am missing?" he asked quietly.

The Headmistress considered him quietly. "Are you certain you wish to do this on your own? After all, I know you are well aware of what a madhouse it is at start of term for the head of the school, but I am aware this is your first year at this school, and while you have a great deal of teaching experience, I don't expect you to do everything perfectly and without guidance. Would you like me to deal with the parents?" she offered, but her quick glance at her desk at the mound of scrolls and her tone belied the fact that she didn't want this extra duty, she already had a full plate.

"If I may be so bold, headmistress. While I would always welcome your advice and input, there are certain techniques for obtaining the truth from a witness that most defense instructors know… and I can hardly believe that a man that kicks his daughter in the stomach hard enough to almost kill her is a very skilled occulmens, not of course that it would matter in this situation." he replied mildly; his tone however was shadowed with his ire.

"Oh, Mr. Savoy, you do not know how glad I am to hear you say that. Our previous potion master was skilled in mind magic at time when things were most dire. May we never need the level of services again; but I understand that your skills would theoretically be useful if they were legal. And I am sure if I was there it would be certainly less 'safe' for Mr. Kearns to reveal his thoughts. Much better for you two men to have a chat. Her eyes flashed with anger and malice at the thought. "Please brief me again after that meeting. Oh, and have you met with your house?"

"Yes, I came from there after Ms. Kearn's surgery began. They are settling well. I will be asking that all teachers keep an extremely close eye on my 7th years however at this week's staff meeting." He replied thoughtfully.

"Undoubtedly." Replied the headmistress drily. He gave her a wry, tired smile, nodded and turned to take his leave. He former headmaster's portrait was smiling thoughtfully, and gave him a playful wink. Face turned from the headmistress, he scowled menacingly at the meddlesome old coot before striding purposefully toward the dungeons. While he missed his mentor terribly, seeing his portrait seemingly alive and energetic suddenly reminded him what a manipulative bastard he had been over the past 20 years.

Reentering the slytherin common room quietly, he came to find a much different scene that just 30 minutes ago. His 6 prefects were gathered around one end of the study table. First and second years were completely absent. He cast a wandless tempus charm – 10:00 pm. They had enforced the previous standing lights out for the young ones without being told to do so. Interesting. It looked like the majority of 5th years were scattered with friends about the common room, many with books cracked, same with the 7th years. No surprise here – those were the OWL and NEWT years, and some of the toughest academically. If you wanted to excel, it would take the extra effort, and slytherins were nothing if not ambitious. It looked like the 6th years were engaged in an impromptu round robin of exploding snap by the fire. He relaxed a bit; this was a very good sign. It seemed that the biggest malcontents were his own prefects. He hadn't asked who had been the head of house for the past two years; it surprised him that he hadn't thought to ask, and he was disappointed at his oversight. But thinking of it made him wonder what idiot would choose Abernathy. He approached the table.

"Sir?" enquired Justin, voice sharp, and eyebrow raised in silent enquiry.

"Any questions?" he asked, wanting to be resource for the group, but making sure they did their own work.

"Must we use the set order of topics? We were having a discussion on prioritization," he explained, although Savoy could tell that pained him to have a civil conversation with the professor he was obviously still very angry with.

Thinking back, he knew the order had been set by knowledge of the teacher's curriculum and what social and academic problems were likely to rise for the young ones. Presumably, where ever there was a teacher change that would impact the timing for the study groups – so new professors were in potions, DADA, divination, hmmm

"I would not be opposed to a reworking of the topics." he replied, noting a smirk touched the face of the prefect, "However, I will expect you to make a case to me as to why you chose the order you have when we meet later." At this the prefect rolled his eyes at his head of house.

"Problem, Mr. Abernathy?" he asked slowly.

"If you are giving us the work to do, you should trust it will get done." he replied sharply.

"If your behavior tonight led me to trust your judgment, we would not be meeting tonight at all." he replied mildly, gently reminding the prefect and head student of his house of his own folly, and his responsibility for their current conflict. Could this boy be reached, he wondered? Was it worth the effort to try?

Face neutral, Justin considered him carefully for several seconds before acknowledging his statement with a slow nod. Whether it was of acknowledgement or saving him from a sharp retort that would land him in even more trouble, the professor wasn't sure, but he would take it for the moment.

"I am returning to the infirmary, and would ask Mr. Murphy to accompany me. Are you still in need of his assistance?"

"Austin, are you comfortable with your topics?" he asked.

"Sure. Just make sure if you can that mine fall a bit later. Jena is going to take a while to recover and get caught up, and I don't want to be too busy to keep an eye on my mentoring." he replied easily. Savoy surveyed the group as Austin replied; regardless of their different perspectives, it was obvious that the 6 prefects were familiar with each other and with working together. That was one worry off his rather full plate, he decided.

As they made their way back to the infirmary, the professor saw the boy's shoulders tense as the distraction was removed, and thoughts turned to the girl who was struggling for her life. He thought to distract the boy. "Mr. Murphy, it is troubling me, but I seem to remember that your previous head of house for some time was a potion master, Snape, correct? But he wasn't your head of house last year, was he?"

"No sir. He was killed in the final battle. He had been a spy for Dumbledore. He was very clever, and the Dark Lord never knew. However, he was killed by Voldemort's snake, Nagini." the boy replied. "Although no one seems quite sure as to why."

"I see, so who was your head of house last year?" he asked.

"Professor Hagrid, the care of the magical creatures professor."

"And that was?" he prompted.

"Hagrid is a good sort." he replied neutrally. The Professor's eyes narrowed, as he saw the boys shoulders tense further. A lie? Most likely.

"Mr. Murphy, we are going to have to work very closely to help Ms. Kearns. I was most impressed on how you worked not only with your peers, but those younger students and those prefects that are older than you. I am also quite impressed with how you handled the tensions surrounding the difference in the first year' backgrounds. I am hoping to rely on you to be of great assistance to Jena, as well as myself. You have already proven yourself to be quite a capable young man."

The boy glanced back quickly, surprise easily seen in his eyes, and a tint of pink on his cheeks, apparently embarrassed by such open praise.

"That said, we will get much more done for the other students and for Jena if we can be completely honest with each other."

The boys face clouded over briefly, obviously lost in thought.

"So, perhaps now you would care to expand on your thoughts of the previous professor?" he asked neutrally.

"Sir, we are Slytherins. We'll, we're cunning, for one thing, and we're sneaky. Professor Hagrid, well he is a simple sort, and there was a benefit in always seeing the best in everyone. Especially after the final battle."

"And?" he prompted the boy quietly.

"And, there was a down side. Many are angry, and took their anger out on those weaker than them. My first 3 years at Hogwarts, it didn't matter what side of the Dark Lord you were on, we were a unit. Now, that is threatened." He explained quietly.

"Thank you for your candor, and I appreciate the respect you showed in speaking of Professor Hagrid. This year, we will do much to repair the damage." He was tempted to ask about himself as head of house; but suddenly decided he really didn't want to know. He wasn't sure his ego could bear another blow this night.

When they entered, Madame Pomfrey was speaking quietly with the older, female apprentice. The theatre screens were still in place, and presumably the healer and the other apprentice were still behind them. Pomfrey's eyes met his as they entered, and she waved the newcomers over.

"Madeline says that she survived the surgery. She is very weak, but so long as there are no complications, she should recover. The next 24 hours will be critical. The spleen had to be completely removed, I am afraid. As it regulates both magical health and immunity in physical health, we will all have to endeavor that she not overdo on either her magic or her physical activity to remain healthy. She will be more prone to illness now, both magical and muggle." Relief was clear in the woman's voice, even though concern was still etched in the lines of her forehead.

The apprentice identified as Madeline informed them that the healer was closing the surgery site and she would then disassemble the theater. The healer or one of the apprentices would return in three days time.

"How long before she wakes?" enquired Professor Savoy.

"Twelve to 15 hours." She replied carefully, "are you going to fetch the parents?"

"No. The child has indicated that the father may be culpable for her injury. Confronting the man, even if I could find him at this hour of the night, would gain us nothing. I will speak to the child again first, and then find them."

"She isn't out of the woods yet. If she should take a turn for the worse, her parents might not have the opportunity…"

"The opportunity to what? Kick her someplace else?" replied Savoy sharply. Fatigue was making it difficult for him to keep his conviction of turning a more positive leaf firmly in focus.

"I only meant…" the apprentice replied irritably, only to be cut of by the Matron

"Yes, dear, very thoughtful of you. We shall of course be investigating the situation, and will get in touch with them shortly. Thank you for your update," replied Pomfrey kindly, but in a way that was clearly a dismissal.

The professor steeled his resolve and looked over to the young man who had prudently watched the interchange with his head of house silently. "Mr. Murphy, it would seem we have the resolution to our initial question. I would have you return to your dorms, and I will stay with Jena for the time being. I will be in need of you tomorrow morning after breakfast. I may have you sit with Jena while I take care of speaking to her parents, for example." He replied carefully. Intuitively, he knew if he sent his young charge off to bed with no further involvement he would balk. He wanted to be involved, he would let him.

"Of course! I am relieved she is better. I will see you at breakfast, sir?" asked the teen enquired.

"No. Simply come here when you wake for the day. It is unlikely that I will leave the infirmary tonight. A glance at the medi-witch's firm line to her mouth indicated that she disagreed strongly with that plan of action. At least she had the good sense not to challenge him on it in front of the student. Of course, that was a courtesy she had long ago dropped for his previous incarnation. When had it stopped? He would have to think on this some – he liked the new courtesy.

"Good night sir. Madame Pomfrey" the boy returned politely and headed back for the door.

It was some hours later that the healers from St. Mungos had cleared completely from the infirmary and he and the Matron had their disagreement about his keeping vigil in the hospital wing. She had pointed out the need for him to have rest, to stay sharp witted and focused for both the students and the inevitable conflict with the parents. He had pointed out that he would be resting, just in a bed that was a bit smaller than the one in his rooms, and happened to be o a few feet from his charge.

"But you will sleep?" she had insisted.

"Of course, as much as you." He replied drily, letting a ghost of a smile play at his lips. That had done it. She could hardly belittle him for her own behaviors. Now the two were seated and having a pleasantly aromatic cup of tea he had asked her to earlier that evening. While he could do nothing for the girl besides remain reassuringly close, he could use the time to delve into his curiosity of the status of the potions.

"If you please, Madame, I wonder if you would indulge my curiosity. You see, my mother was a potion mistress, and so potion making is a bit of a passion for me, although I obviously concentrated on defense. What seems to be the trouble with your potion supply?" he asked carefully, suddenly grateful for Dumbledore's foresight in choosing a family with a potioneer in it for his alter ego's relatives. It certainly covered his current identities fondness and skill in potions.

The matron sighed wearily. "Perhaps I am just too precise. We had one of the best potion masters in Britain – Severus Snape, you have heard of him, of course?" she said, smiling slightly at his raised eyebrows. It wasn't difficult to feign being impressed, even if it did embarrass him a little.

"His potions were nearly always perfect. Not just good, mind you, but perfect. As predictable as the ingredients let them be; more so, I believe, since he had such good control and such a feel for the subtleties of his ingredients. Times were dire, too. We had casualties, you see – the war and all, so the potions mattered. Our new potions mistress is beyond her retirement age. I hope you will hold what I tell you this night in confidence; I generally don't gossip about the staff. But Gertie really can't see very well any longer, and can't smell well either. She is completely burnt out on potion making, and should retire. I just don't think anyone is taking the potions master role for the school seriously anymore. People want to forget the troubles of the past, and don't want to dwell on what happened, even if that means not protecting our children. After just two years, some are thinking that it doesn't matter. What is going to happen at Hogwarts that we would need perfect, medical quality potions? But you see, first day, and look what we needed! If that poor dear had to take any of Gertie's potions…" she sighed, clearly indicating the outcome was too horrible to contemplate.

"I see. So do you need someone to test the potion batches to make sure they are acceptable?" he inquired, not certain he completely understood the problem.

"No… or more to the point, they are the tests." She replied not meeting his eyes.

"I am not sure I follow you?" he queried, his brow furrowing.

"Well, when the students take tests, they make a potion. In Gertie's opinion, their best potion."

"What does that have to do with Gertie's potions in the infirmary?" he couldn't quite comprehend what the matron was getting at.

"There are only about a dozen potions that are Gertie's here," she replied evenly.

Wait. He thought, searching her face to some clue as to what she is alluding too.

"Are you saying that you are treating students with potions created by students?" he asked quietly, keeping his face neutral.

"Gertie seems to think that if the potion isn't quite perfect and there are a few side effects that it will encourage the students to get that much better at potions.

He simply stared at the woman in shock. In his past life no one would ever considered this appropriate. What if Ms. Kearns had needed one of those potions? What if she had died from a side effect?

"And you, how do you feel about this?" he willed his voice not to reveal his anger. He willed his hands not to shake with the outrage he felt. He was in a state of total disbelief. The Poppy Pomfrey he knew would never have jeopardized her students. She would have never considered this to be a thing to be allowed.

"Terrible. Awful. At first I was just reluctant to make a fuss. After all, we still had a large stock of Snape's potions, and I thought I could cajole Gertie after a bit. And mind you, giving a student made potion for a headache or a stomach draught is hardly dangerous. I normally take a little sip first, any way, to be extra cautious. I too wish that we could put the war behind us. But this child, Kearns – she has a tattoo Professor. Not the Mark mind you, but some runes, just inside her forearm. One of them reminds me somewhat of the dark mark. I guess she is just another product of the war, and as much as we would like to push all that darkness away, we do so at the peril of pushing someone like her away. I am ashamed I feel reluctant to help this student; I too long for normalcy and calm, but I was lax, and it almost harmed a student. I need better potions. I will confront Gertie and the Headmistress, but I am not sure how much good it is going to do."

"Well, as you know, my mother was a very well known potion mistress; he replied steering the subject away from the girl (and the tattoo, he thought, he would definitely have to look it to that in the immediate future) and I am quite adept. I never took my mastery practical, and I am certain I will never be able to live up to the esteemed Professor's Snape's standard, however, I could take my practical and likely have my mastery before winter holidays. Then I could take on some of the brewing. Would this be helpful? I am also willing to join the conversation with the Headmistress if you feel it would bolster your position."

The look of friendly warmth and relief that came over the Matron's face was almost overwhelming. "I have done some of my own brewing, but I admit that I am really not all that skilled. I would be completely indebted to you if you could assist in anyway. Truly, you needn't go through the trouble of getting your mastery, if you would allow Gertie supervision – that is how she gets away with using the student potions." The matron enjoined effusively.

He nodded once "I find potion making relaxing; it will be good to spend some time in a proper laboratory." His mind began to whirl with complex ingredient shifts – after all, each potion master had a certain, well, not exactly 'style' but once you in general learned how the Master operated, the educated could start to suss out the creator of a potion through simple observation. He would have to very carefully change some of his potions recipes. He kept his face neutral as he pretended to listen to politely while he considered the recipe changes. He allowed a brief scowl to touch his brow.

"I will take my mastery. I will not be supervised by someone who would put a child, any child in harm's way."

Poppy's eyes grew troubled, and a slight frown graced her normally ebullient features. "Thank havens for that Professor, thank Merlin for that.


	8. Chapter 8 Meet the Parents

Disclaimer: Still don't own any of Harry Potter, won't make any money writing fan fiction, and would never try to take anything away from Ms. Rowling or Warner Bros – after all they have done for me, surely! After all, without them, who knows what I would be doing with my free time?

Reminder: This story is rated M for a reason. This chapter alludes to pass abuse and has the f-bomb. If your sensibilities will be offended, it is likely best not to read on. On with the story…

Professor Savoy sat in the early morning sunshine streaming in the infirmary windows. His sandy brown hair was just ever so slightly damp from his earlier shower, and he was slowing sipping at a strong cup of black tea that the house elves had just brought him. His gaze over the front lawn was unseeing as he replayed the events of the past 24 hours. His work last night hadn't ended until a final confrontation with the 7th year prefect, Abernathy. It was well past 1 am when he had finally bid goodnight to the matron and made his way down to the common room. He cringed inwardly at the remembrance. That young man was so full of arrogance – but he had to be certain that it was just that, arrogance, and not a protective armor that was hiding more disturbing issues.

He had made that mistake with a student 8 years ago – one green-eyed savior of the wizarding world to be exact, and loathe as he was to admit it, he was desperate not to have history repeat itself. Mr. Abernathy was one of the lucky ones. While his father had been heavily involved with the losing side of the war, he had been cunning enough to appear un-declared and unattached – his estate had suffered no penalties, and he and his wife remained out of Azkaban. Once, Savoy somewhat rejoiced that every one of his childhood rivals were no more – an entire generation of hoodlums, self-named 'Marauders' gone. But a lot had changed. If he was being honest with himself, he had changed as well. And he was beginning to realize that there was an entire generation of well-bred, mostly well educated young people who were completely adrift, disenfranchised from their own peers by simple laws of mathematics.

The war had killed a lot of parents, and now their children were with aunts, uncles, or worse, and Justin Abernathy, by virtue of not being on his own, had great clout with his peers. Further, Savoy knew Abernathy senior. He was sure he was bragging to anyone who would listen how he was so much smarter and better than everyone else simply by the fact he had remained mostly unscathed from choosing the losing side. It would appear that his son believed it. A small smirk graced the corners of his mouth. After the verbal thrashing he'd given the boy last night, he might not believe it quite so feverently now, however. He would have to watch the boy. He had given him responsibility over some aspects of the younger students hoping it would force him into a sense of pride and community and temper his arrogance, but arrogance could wound. He hoped it was the right decision, and the boy was not too far gone in his delusions.

He turned and surveyed the sleeping 11 year old behind him. Ms. Kearns condition had slowly stabilized during the night. Twice the mediwitch had been able to come out and see to other of her injuries – now that her internal ones were well on their way to being healed. The other injuries were nothing major, but one could only give so many potions, and the body only had so much energy to heal. Still, further tests had shown a long, long history of injury. It was obvious that it was unlikely that they were the type of injuries suffered by any normal active child. Children did not break ribs. Or if they did, it was not repeatedly. Children did not have sight problems that could be linked to malnutrition. Children did not come to school with internal bleeding and say nothing. When Mr. Murphy showed up, he would go find this child's parents. They had a great deal to answer for.

Gathering his wandering thoughts, he approached the child's bed, and pulled up a chair to the side. The child had been unconscious for nearly 9 hours, and wouldn't wake for several more. He gently untucked the covers closest and slipped her thin arm to the top of the crisp white bed linens. Inside her elbow were 3 small tattoos – squarish in shape, and deep brown in color. It was obvious that they were runes of some sort. The middle rune looked somewhat like the skull of the dark mark, but that could be entirely coincidental. He gently turned her palm toward him so that the inner arm was exposed more to the morning light. He indulged in a sigh – he was knowledgeable of runes, but no expert. None on her arm were meaningful. He didn't want to risk a possible negative reaction with the child's magic by probing if the runes had been used to cement a charm or a hex, so this too was a mystery that would wait. It would seem that the universe was conspiring to make him a patient man. With gentle care, he tucked the girl's stick thin arm back in the bed linens.

Minutes later, the infirmary door swung open, emitting a very serious looking young Mr. Murphy. His wait was over. It was time to go find this child's parents and some answers.

"Mr. Murphy, I have business to attend to. As classes start tomorrow, I will be leaving as soon as breakfast is concluded and I have distributed the Slytherin class schedules. Ms. Kearns has slowly improved through the night. She should recover. However, given the traumatic nature of events, I still do not wish to leave her alone. Are you prepared to spend what could be most of the last day before classes start in earnest in what could possibly be idly whiling away the hours?" he asked, a smile playing at his lips. The boy's earnest expression gave him his answer.

"The time will not be wasted, and I do want to help, sir. I brought my school books and my study group notes so I can start a lesson plan of sorts." he replied.

"Oh, and what did you get?" he asked.

"Potions, for the class work, and literature, for the non-course study work." he said, cringing slightly.

"Not a lover of the written word?" he asked, a warm smile being released onto his lips now he was assured of the young man's assistance.

"Oh, yes sir, I am. That's not the point. The notes from the previous prefects indicate, well…" he suddenly paused and rifled through his bags, bringing a creased but neatly written list.

"Young Slytherin witches should be encouraged in literature that is not too challenging, teaches societal norms for the wizarding world elite, and allows them to have topics of stimulating conversation for their guests when they marry into households of the social and political elite. It should be neither too trite or plebian, but yet not too strenuous or time consuming as to leave them judicious time to care for their appearance and domestic arts. Young Slytherin wizards should be encouraged in literature that shows the place of their families in wizarding society, and teaches them the responsibilities of power, wealth and the proper wielding of influence." The boy scrunched his nose in distaste. "I am sorry sir, but I am having a difficult time assimilating that charge."

"And why is that, Mr. Murphy?" He said lightly, not allowing the slight smile to leave his lips.

His voice kept neutral, neither approving nor disapproving, he was wondering what the boy's response would be. He watched as the boy quickly changed to a bit of a blank mask, but couldn't help noticing the slight wariness in the boy's eyes.

"Well, sir it's that I like literature you know, good books, by really good authors. It's a bit of an obsession, really. Sir, what the study a guide is asking me to do is not literature. It's indoctrination. It is trying to set the tastes of the pureblood families. I am not sure that has to do with literature."

"Well played, Mr. Murphy. You both didn't lose ground with me by insulting my opinion if I happened to be the one setting the standard that you are not so fond of, nor did you reveal your true opinion except to the truly observant. But, as I said, especially when we are alone, I want your utmost honesty. And if I ask you for your opinion, I expect to get it. So. Try. Again."

"It's utter crap, sir."

"Language, Mr. Murphy" he said, his smirk growing.

"Sorry Sir. But women are more than wives and hostesses, and men are more than trying to get to the top of the heap. Literature is well, art, and should be seen by everyone. I don't get why I should do it the way the notes say?"

"Well, Mr. Murphy, it is your lucky day. Do you have any other notes?"

"Yes sir, they are all here."

"Hand them over."

The boy shot him a puzzled look, and rifled the rest out of the bag.

"Your filing system leaves something to be desired."

"I don't lose things."

"They just look like they have been through the Spanish Inquisition."

"How should they look, sir?" he replied, somewhat cheekily.

He shot the boy, who he was quickly warming up to, a playful glare as he handed the document over.

"Like they just went through the Salem witch trials." he said quietly. As he stepped slightly away from the boy, he tossed the stack lightly in the air.

Austin stepped back in surprise as he watched the untidy stack of notes go just over his head, and his professor whip out his wand and cast a silent 'incendio' spell. The untidy pile went up in a small plume of flames with a whumpf! sound.

It was liberating! The cold, dark bitter potion master of old would never have done something so outlandish, so impulsive. But Professor Savoy could, and a little thrill ran up his spine. What that feeling was, though, he wasn't entirely sure.

"Now, I must tend to my business. I would suggest you start by redoing your study group syllabus."

"Yes sir!" the boy replied suddenly more enthusiastic about the work ahead of him.

Professor Savoy took one more look at the girl. She was so tiny, thin and pale, her hair limply framing her face. The smile he had been allowing himself quickly left his face. "You are in charge, Mr. Murphy." He said quietly, and headed for the door.

Kearns Manor was nothing but an overdone stucco cottage, Professor Savoy thought. While spacious for a normal yard in the city, the yard was pathetically small for rural Edinburough, and if there had ever been a garden it was so long ago that one couldn't see any tell tale signs. The yard was just a blank wash of dull green grass. The exterior was flat grey with dormers on the second story. The doors had no coat of arms nor a knocker, yet an indentation of where one might have been long ago. Obviously removed and sold as scrap. Truly, he had never seen a pureblood house fall into such a sorry state.

He knocked politely at the door. And waited. After several minutes he surreptitiously drew his wand from his sleeve, and waved a brief pattern. The door glowed faintly pink, his eyebrows rose in surprise. No wards whatsoever. In fact, the door was unlocked. He knocked again. After several minutes, he grew impatient and stepped through the door. The front room was neat, and orderly, if a bit run down. Stiff backed chairs with soft apple green velvet that was thread bare on the seats sat across a deep brown coffee table from an equally threadbare settee in the same velvet. A very old, moth eaten rug was under the coffee table. Obviously of Persian or Moroccan origin, it was riddled with moth holes, and worn to the point that the brown threads were more predominate than the grey and green lotus pattern. The floors were a blonde wood of some kind, and scuffed and dull. Savoy glanced around, realizing for all the state of disrepair, everything was perfectly in order. Clean, neat, and thoroughly scrubbed.

Wand out, he padded carefully though the small entry and sitting room, and into what was obviously a dual purpose parlor and dining room. Quite formal in feel, all decoration and furniture had been removed except the exceptionally heavy, dark table that looked as if it had been carved from a single tree. Similarly, the 10 chairs around the table were all wood, thick and straight backed. Each looked like it could easily weigh as much as a man. They were crudely designed, and obviously quiet old. Other than this, and the fireplace, little was left in the room from more prosperous times. Faint shadows on the walls showed where pictures and decorations had some time ago adorned the hall. He slipped steadily down the side of the room, and stepped into the kitchen. It was all stone; stone walls, stone counters, with dark wood cabinet fronts. The room was very dark, even though it was late morning. There was an old fashioned hearth; it was obvious this was the oldest part of the house, and the center. He noticed a dark shadow next to the hearth, a nook, generally indicating where a house elf slept. He stepped over to check; although the household looked far too poor to retain such a luxury as an elf, he would rather not be surprised by one. However, a small, torn quilt, clean but stained with small dark spots was laid carefully in the elf's nook. The nook was inhabited. He stepped closer to see if the elf was in the panty tucked out of sight behind the hearth. The pantry had a few pots and pans, but no food to speak of, and definitely no elf. Savoy decided to take a closer look at the nook.

The quilt must have been light blue dark blue and white squares at one point, he thought, as her knelt down and reached in gingerly to touch fabric. But age had bled the blue out so it was more a dull gray than anything. A shelf along the back of the nook, a bit higher than the entry caught his eye as he looked up from the quilt. He noticed a few carefully folded shirts that had seen much better days. Clothes though? Elves did not have clothes. He looked at the quilt again, and realized that the small spots were blood. Blood stains, he corrected. He glanced around, realizing that like the entry and parlor, the kitchen was care worn – stripped of anything valuable, but antiseptically clean, but everything was quite old. He picked up one of the small worn shirts. They were child size, and grey with age and many washings. He glanced around the rest of the kitchen from the nook. He saw 2 large empty bottles set next to a large inset stone basin. Obviously a large ancient sink, with a window overhead. Not a bad set up for a potions lab, he thought absently.

He stood from his stooped position as the nook, staring at the opening. The shirt in his hands was large for an elf, but a bit small for the child. Jena slept here, he realized. At least it would be warm when the hearth was lit, he thought, but obviously the small assembly of clothing that was little more than rags was all the girl had in the world. Wonderful. And no elf… he walked over to the bottles, recognizing the silhouette of cheap muggle spirits. Both bottles were empty, and seemed somehow out of place. He carefully opened a number of cupboards. Some old dishes, but nothing decent, salt, a few small jars of spice, and nothing else. He moved carefully to a door on the opposite of the kitchen and quietly opened the door.

The house had been eerily quiet, but in the hallway, he heard the first noise: snoring. He moved silently toward the sound, to a room. What looked like it used to be a library contained nothing but some broken down empty bookshelves, and an ancient four poster bed whose hangings were so old that the sunlight that larger paned windows let in had bleached the outermost gathers almost white, but the inner folds showed a similar soft green as the velvet in the entry parlor. Sprawled in a torn old cloak and a sweat stained shirt was a wiry stick of a man. The room reeked faintly of sour spirits. It was obvious from his ruddy complexion, and his unkempt state that the two bottles in the kitchen had been fairly recently consumed. The man was sleeping off a recent binge. Professor Savoy cringed inwardly. Jena had been in this house yesterday, and likely responsible for the clean state of this house. There wasn't a crumb of food, and the man was passed out drunk. Raising the wand still in his hand, he cast a spell. The man would be out for hours yet without intervention. He definitely did not wish to wait hours.

Pointing the wand carefully at the man's chest, "enervate" he whispered quietly, and watched the man give a great twitch. He would be half drunk, and half hung over – not the most pleasant state for the man to be sure, but Savoy already suspected that this was a man that would not garner his sympathy.

The man gave snort and rolled unceremoniously to his side, throwing an arm over his eyes to block the offending light.

"Lord Kearns?" he inquired, a slight sneer in his voice. He knew that Kearns was pureblood, and this was a manor… and that custom dictated the title. But it was a stretch, even for someone as old fashioned as himself.

If the man had been more sober, he would have bolted upright, as it was, he sat up quickly, arms flailing, clearly startled. "Wha, who?" he stuttered as he flailed, suddenly scrunching his eyes against the morning light.

"Lord Kearns, please forgive the intrusion into your home. However, the front door was unsecured, there was no warding, and as your daughter has arrived at school severely injured. I need to speak to you." Savoy stated, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Looking up, the man blinked at him, still squinting against the light. His face flushed red.

"An, what? An ah, au- auror! What? Why? Get out!" he sputtered, only semi-coherently, but made no move to stand, or even go for a wand.

"I am no auror." Savoy replied evenly, studying the man carefully. Perhaps that man was more inebriated than the enervate spell could disperse.

"I don't care," he began to yell, only to stop suddenly, and grab his head. He sat still for a moment, and finally hissed, much more quietly "Get out!"

"Certainly. I will withdraw to the parlor, now that I know that you are unharmed. However, I expect you to meet me there in 15 minutes to discuss your daughter."

"My 'daughter'?" he sputtered. "How dare you. You, you… you are no auror, who are you?"

"My name is Professor Savoy. I teach Defense of the Dark arts at Hogwarts."

"My daughter," he muttered, still holding his head, obviously confused from the pounding hangover. "That wench doesn't go to school, especially not bloody Hogwarts. Why are you here?"

"I assure you that your daughter did arrive at Hogwarts last night, and her name was on the sorting list, so it appears that she does indeed go to school."

He smirked. If this man was responsible for that small girl's deplorable state, the hangover the man was experiencing would be just the first in a long line of very painful ailments he would have to contend with. He would see to that personally.

"I will meet you in the parlor." he stated, putting every ounce of cold force behind the words. The man would comply, or he would regret it.

It was almost 30 minutes later when Lord Kearns made his way to the living room.

"Now see here, you have no right to be in my home, ordering me about – my daughter is here, she does not go to school. You have been mistaken, now get out!"

"I am sorry Lord Kearns. But I am afraid there is no mistake. Ms. Kearns is in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, her identity confirmed by the treating staff form the emergency surgery the child had last night," he replied quietly, watching for any sort of response from the clearly hangover man.

"But that's not possible," he sneered. "She didn't know how to get there. Get out!"

Professor Savoy's eyebrows rose into his hairline. That was the third time he had mentioned the girl being sick or ill, and that statement had not received a response from this man. Either he was not surprised she was in this state or was already aware she was in a sorry state, and he didn't care.

"I am afraid I can't leave, Lord Kearns, until I discover exactly how you allowed your daughter to end up in the deplorable state she arrived at school in."

"How dare you!" he sputtered angrily, barely able to keep himself drawn up straight, one head pushing his temple in what Savoy was certain has to be a very nasty hangover. "You don't know with whom you are dealing!"

"You are correct. I do not." replied quietly raising one eyebrow, keeping his voice completely neutral. "Nor, apparently did you. A child who I am currently responsible for nearly bled to death from an injury to an internal organ last night. I intend to find out why. If an adult is responsible through a deliberate act for her current state, that adult had better notify their next of kin prior to the Aurors arriving," he stated with no hint of either anger or heat.

"Are you threatening to have me arrested?" then man stepped back, suddenly aghast.

"No sir, I am not." he replied coolly, still without any inflection.

The blustering man barely listened, already raising a finger to point in the professor's face. However, before he could utter another round of vitriol, his sluggish brain finally caught up with his blustering.

"Then why are you saying the Aurors arrive would arrive."

"They typically investigate acts of violence," Savoy replied, an evil looking smirk now dancing in his eyes. "I see this conversation is getting us nowhere. When and where did you last see your daughter?"

"Look here, Professor, Savoy, Samoy – whatever the hell you said your name is. When and where I saw my 'daughter'," he sneered, nearly spitting out the title, "is none of your bloody business. You don't know the type of men I know, you don't know what I am capable of you bloody git. Now get out of my house!" he rasped, nearly screaming, and reached into the opening of his robe clumsily, obviously trying to draw his wand.

Savoy snorted. This man was nearly terminally stupid. If he had met him in his previous carnation, he would have been terminally stupid, he thought grimly. He left his movements unhurried-the man hadn't even noticed that his wand was already in his hand and raised it menacingly toward the man's head.

"Legilimens"

Savoy was whisked into a whirl of crashing noise and stark light. The man was both slightly still drunk and incredibly, sickly hung-over. He also had very little in the way of mental barriers. The intrusion into his untrained mind combined with the very high level of alcohol currently coursing through the man's system brought him to his knees, sides heaving, as his body tried to rid itself of the contents of his stomach. Savoy was only mildly aware of the man's physical plight; he swept through the man's recent memories, not caring of the torrents and eddies his mind's movement created. This man had not earned his compassion.

A short while later, her pulled out of the drunken man's mind also none too gently. The man collapsed onto the floor in a heap, shoulder landing in his own vomit. If someone who had known him previously were to look on the man known as Savoy, they would have seen the same dispassionate contempt as his previous persona was so known for.

He cast a tempus charm. Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes he had spent mired in this piece of filth's mind, and not once did he find an act of kindness toward the girl. True, his actions were more often than not completely passive. His abuse was in failing to come home after several nights' binge, failing to remember there was no food in the house, failing to be able to control his addiction enough to see that the small girl was withering away in her father's care. He couldn't even pull the events that had led to her grievous state from the man's mind. He has simply been too drunk to remember. The few acts of violence were short and ill timed. A drunken slap, a kick while she was scrubbing the floor. He had seen worse, but combined with the neglect, the child was in grave danger in this home.

What perplexed the professor further was that the memories only went back to the singular event of the girl being delivered to him by two men. From the size of the girl in the memory, he knew it couldn't be more than a few years ago. There were rantings by the Lord Kearns of what the girl had done earlier in her life, with someone only described as 'them', but no statement of who the word 'them' represented. He had accused her of all sorts of terrible acts-it was clear he despised the child. The most unsettling though, was that he himself recognized the two men. She had come to be here with her father through the company of low-ranking death eaters. He could say for sure her earlier life was at least as bad as the life she knew within her own familial home.

He pointed the wand at Kearns again, muttering 'enervate'. He really didn't believe the man had answers, but he was going to give it one more try. He reached into his robe, into the pocket that had been magically enhanced to hold his potions weightless in his cloak. He had a very mild hangover draught – really, it was just a bit of pepper up with a mild analgesic base, but it would serve. It would make the man only very mildly more comfortable –he certainly had no compassion for the man, but may ease his mind enough to loosen his tongue. He watched dispassionately as the man pushed he weakly from the floor.

"Scourgify." he said quietly, removing the vomit from the floor, but doing nothing for the struggling man's robes. There was no reason he should suffer the smell of the man's vomit. But he would do nothing for the wreck of a man in front of him.

Panting, the Lord finally made it to one knee and pulled himself gracelessly into the chair next to him. He gingerly leaned back, opening his eyes to glare at his tormentor. Savoy simply handed him the potion.

"What the bloody hell is that."

"Hangover remedy."

"Bugger off. Get out." The tone of the man's voice was no longer indignant and blustery. Now it was pained, and dead.

"No. We will not leave until the matter of your daughter is settled. I require information. I am not leaving without that information." He replied coldly, his stare never leaving the man's eye.

"You go the information you wanted. Get out." The man choked, angry tears now glistening in the man's eyes. Savoy sighed inwardly. It was indeed a rather gross intrusion, much like rape, to wade through another's mind. Perhaps he should have thought of that before he nearly killed an 11 year old, Savoy thought bitterly.

"You have no care whatsoever for your daughter's well being." It was a statement not a question, and even in his sorry state, Lord Kearns recognized it. Whether he agreed with the statement or not was unknown, because he remained silent.

"As such, I am going to make some assumptions. You don't care whether the girl lives here or not. So I will decide that. You don't care whether the girl comes back or not. I will decide who decides that. You don't care if the girl is scarred beyond what a mind healer can conceivably overcome. I will find her help. But for that, I need to know all the things the girl has suffered. Which means I need to know what you know. Now, we both know that I can get that information. But it make take a great deal of time… and you might fall unconscious again, and watching you sick up and fall in your own vomit is not the way I would choose to spend my spare time. Or, you can take the potion. And we will talk. You will be honest, and believe me, I will know if you are not, and then we will proceed with our other option. Choose." Savoy stated, keeping his voice low and menacing, letting it fall off toward the end, so the man had to struggle to hear.

With clumsy, shaking hands, Lord Kearns swiped the potion from the professor's fingers and downed it in a go.

"Satisfied?" He snarled.

"Just. When did you learn you had a child?"

The man glared obstinately, angry, but obviously recognizing he was not in a position to refuse.

"When they dumped the worthless brat on my doorstep."

"Who is her mother?"

"A deaddeath eater."

Well, that certainly wasn't what he was expecting. "Who?"

The man simply glared. Savoy smirked.

"You don't know?" he guessed.

"I suspect!" the man nearly shouted, clearly embarrassed.

"How can you not know?" Savoy asked.

"I fucked a lot of women." The man stated.

"Not without paying them," Savoy returned menacingly. He never lightened his "You don't remember the event. You were drunk. You are a worthless drunk." Again, it wasn't a question.

"Bugger off, you bastard!" the man shouted coming to his feet.

Savoy stood too. Even in his new appearance, he had height on this "Lord."

".Now." he uttered, through clenched teeth. Raising his wand and pointing it between the man's eyes.

The man slumped, defeat and anger clearly written on his face.

"You would have made a fine DeathEater," he spat at Savoy. "Fine, I don't remember. But the men that brought her did the paternity spell. The worthless brat is mine. I am stuck with her."

"No."

"No? I will not slander the Kearns name by pitching her in an orphanage!"

"Oh, but murder is completely acceptable?" he hissed back.

"Murder? She is not dead."

"Not yet." he said quietly. "But little thanks to you. Who were the men that left her here?"

"Death Eaters," the man said menacingly. "And believe me, I can call my friends. They will have no problem taking care of the likes of you."

"How did your spawn end up in the hands of Death Eaters?" asked Savoy quietly. For this was the crux of the problem – this was what he needed to know to help Jena.

"They said her mum created her as a servant to the Dark Lord, and she had served her purpose." He spat.

"Satisfied? They made my 'spawn' a whore."

Savoy sat back, considering. That could be true, he thought, but certainly she was pure blood, then? Unlikely they would have relegated any but a pureblood to that kind of status.

"You raped a muggle? Is your daughter a half-blood?" Savoy taunted.

"No! How dare you!"

"You don't know who the mother is…"

"The men who brought her did the blood spell, too." He said, half embarrassed half disgustedly.

So pureblood. "How do you know that her mother is dead?"

"The men who brought her said so. Had been dead for a while they said. Now go! I want you out of my house you disgusting…"

"If you know what is good with you, you won't finish that thought," Savoy said cutting in, waving his wand before the man lazily.

"Did you know the men that brought her personally?"

"Yes, they were death eaters. Higher up in the organization than I. Marked, the both of them." he said proudly.

"Ah, a death eater sympathizer, I see. So explain to me how it is that you discover a pureblood daughter from your line, and instead of cherishing the old ways and caring for her, you instead land her in the hospital wing half starved and nearly dead!" Savoy said slowly rising with the crescendo of his voice.

"I don't know! I didn't do anything you…."

Savoy cast a silencing spell, and his cold glare that he had been piercing the man through the conversation turned into a fierce snarl.

"Kearns, you listen to me. "he hissed menacingly dropping the honorific. "I know the deatheaters. You are no deatheater. You are nothing but a worthless, bigoted drunk who doesn't' deserve the time of day. If I had met you five years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to kill you. But times change. I am reporting you to wizarding family services for abuse and neglect. You might get leniency if you share with them what a raging drunk you are and go into treatment. However, if I ever catch you abusing your daughter again, should you ever see her again, you will find out exactly what an inner circle death eater is capable of. Have I made myself perfectly clear?" he snarled. He took off the silencing spell.

"You? You'll go to jail! I'll tell the aurors." he sputtered, relief making him glom on to the first thing that relieved him of the feeling of impotence in the dangerous situation.

"Oh, you can tell them everything," he replied calmly. "That is, everything I allow you to remember," Savoy said, and cruel smirk making it onto his lips, but no hint of humor touched his eyes.

"Obliviate!"


	9. Chapter 9   Scholarship

Disclaimer: Still not rich. Still not Rowling. Still don't own potter. Still bitter about it. On with the story…

Professor Savoy strode purposefully up to the castle. The child would need to stay at school, that was for certain, and the proper authorities notified. He made his way to the stone gargoyles.

"Abyssinian." The passwords had all been about cats. A fairly obvious choice for the tabby animagus, he thought with a silent snort, but then again, in this incarnation, he wasn't supposed to know about the head mistresses' alter ego. He knocked gently at the top of the stair, and the door opened. The headmistress sat, glasses perched, trying to make out the difficult scrawl on a ministry parchment. She did not acknowledge him. He waited patiently, something his former self would not do in this situation.

"Well Mr. Savoy, what did you find at the Kearn's residence," she said, still not taking her eyes from the paper.

"A drunken deatheater sympathizer who would rather have a pint than a daughter." he stated blandly.

"And her mother?"

"What made you believe it was her father that was the sympathizer?"

"Oh, yes well, I guess there were women Deatheaters after all, I didn't mean to presume." she muttered glancing up at the professor of the edge of her glasses.

"Well, actually, in this case you were correct."

The headmistress looked up, eyes snapping with impatience.

"And, as I said, her mother?"

"The fact she is dead is interfering with the fact that she reportedly _was _a deatheater." he stated blandly, not allowing the headmistress's tone to rile his ire.

"Well. That's most unfortunate, then. I wonder where wizarding family services is going to place her?" asked the headmistress distractedly.

"Why would she leave school?" asked Professor Savoy, unsure of what the headmistress was alluding to.

"So her father agreed to pay the tuition?" asked the headmistress, eyebrow rising.

"He has drank everything his family has ever owned," replied Professor Savoy in disgust. "He doesn't even have enough to buy the child food on a regular basis."

"So we notify wizarding family services, and they will find her a placement." She replied quietly, returning to her paperwork.

"I'm sorry headmistress, but isn't there a fund or some such for orphans or children in difficulty?" he asked, stuffing the anger he felt at the headmistress's off hand attitude.

"Of course. But we are just after a war, Mr. Savoy, and our resources are stretched to the limit. We have 30 students here on scholarship all ready. We couldn't afford that many, but Harry Potter has agreed to pay for any children of Order of the Phoenix members that were unable to pay for school. Without his generosity, there wouldn't even be that many.

"I am not aware of any of the Slytherin's being on scholarship." He probed carefully.

"There are no Slytherin's on scholarship," she conceded. "Most come from pureblood families, and could afford school tuition."

"I read that there was a great deal of ministry seizures after the war ended. And those children?" he replied quietly.

"It is easier to raise scholarship money for the children of war heroes than that of criminals," she replied tersely.

"Have you tried?" replied Professor Savoy, matching her tone.

"Enough. I need not explain my actions or lack thereof to you. Between putting the Ministry back together, repairing the school, and seeing to the children who lost parents in the war, we are stretched thin. We cannot possibly help every child." She stated firmly.

"It would seem that you simply can help every child that is not Slytherin." he replied coldly, anger making him careless in his wording.

The Headmistress eyes widened in surprise, and she looked at him sharply. He carefully occluded his thoughts, keeping his face stern, as he kicked himself. That was a very Snape-ish thing to say.

"Well, that certainly was a quick transition into a head of house, I must say. Are you willing to pay the tuition?" she asked tersely.

"On my salary? A first year teacher's salary without tenure?"

"And what about taking custody of her, you would need to be her guardian while she is at school." She prodded mercilessly.

"I am already responsible for her, I don't see where that would be so much different." he scoffed, but internally he winced. Did he want to be tied to yet another responsibility? Especially of an ill, abused and possibly emotionally unstable child? Certainly there were many children out in the wizarding world that needed help, why did this one merit more concern than others, and why did he need to take on that responsibility? Well, he wasn't a Slytherin for nothing. He could be as manipulative as his former mentor when need be.

"I had read in "Hogwarts; A history" that all the houses were equally valued. It is good to learn that is no longer the case Madame. I am sorry that I misunderstood. I will contact Wizarding family services right away and have them come for the child." he said raising his hand to forestall what the headmistresses was trying to interrupt with. "After all, I was sure that since the majority of the Darklord's forces were from that house, you would want to tamp it out. I am only her to serve you and this great institution, Madame, and so I will be on my way."

"Wait just one moment, Mr. Savoy. What possess you to think such a thing as my wanting to 'tamp out' the Slytherins? I certainly have no intention of doing that." the headmistress exclaimed indignantly.

"Really? One would think with just six new first years, one of which is lying ill in the hospital wing, and no scholarships for that house, that padding the numbers for the remaining houses with scholarships would seem to be doing exactly that. With just five new students this year, and so many students not returning, why, I will bet it will be less than a decade before the Slytherins aren't a house any more. Any more quickly than that, and people will notice, so that is a particularity cunning plan. My, by any chance were you in Slytherin?"

"I was a Gryfindor! And there is no such nefarious plot afoot. There is simply no more money to be had on short notice to assist the girl. Why don't you write to some of the esteemed Slyherin alumni and see if someone will offer some assistance?" she stated sternly.

"By your own admission, many of those alumni are already paying for the children of relatives to attend, just not under the acknowledgement of scholarship."

The woman sighed heavily. "You aren't going to let this go, are you?" she watched as a small smile played on the DADA professor's lips.

"Fine. Ms. Kearns can have a scholarship, but she does not have academic merit, so it will be one of the working scholarships. She will need to assist the teachers or Mr. Filch in some capacity for her tenure to earn her keep. And while she is here, you will be responsible for her, guardian or no. Have I made myself clear?" she said tersely.

"Crystal. Good afternoon Headmistress."


	10. Chapter 10 Waking up

Disclaimer: I am making ZERO dollars on this – it is purely for my artistic growth. Although if it was legal to get paid to do this, maybe this would be heaven? Anyway, I want you all to know that the tracking system seems to be broken, as I have a few who have added me to their favorites in the past few days (thank you!) but my account is showing ZERO hits for the past few weeks. Zero dollars I can live with… zero reviews hurts but is tolerable. But zero hits? Now I feel like a real loser. Must be, because on I slog with the story regardless….

xoxoxo

Jena woke slowly, coming out of a recurring nightmare that she had where she needed to wake up, had to wake up, but just couldn't get her eyes open. She felt impending doom, fear, dread – like something awful was about to happen but she couldn't quite open her eyes. Finally she wrenched her eyes open with a small gasp of fear.

It was almost noon, and Austin had been sitting next to the bed. He had finished the literature study group outline, and had moved onto going though his own syllabi, outlining his study time and reviewing first chapters for his classes. He heard movement, and looked over at the young girl. Her brow was slightly creased, and her head twitched. She looked upset in her sleep. Nightmare? He reached over and gently placed his and over hers which was resting gently at her side. Her other arm was still bandaged – he wasn't' sure what all had been wrong with it, but Madam Pomfrey had said it would be nearly as good as new today. Her hand twitched, as if she was trying to draw away. And then he heard a gasp.

Jena blinked, trying to clear her vision realizing she was gazing up at a very high and very unfamiliar ceiling. As she became aware, she felt someone touching her hand, and tried to sit up abruptly, only to discover she seemed stuck in place, and that it was painful to tighten her stomach muscles. She grimaced in pain.

"Madame Pomfrey" a voice entirely too close called out as she tried to slide sideways away from the voice. If she stayed in contact with the bed, and moved slowly, she could slide just a bit.

"Kearns, uhm, Jena…" the voice sounded hesitant, but was still too close. "I don't think you should move around. You've been awful sick. Madame Pomfrey will be here in a moment."

She stopped her slow slide away and turned her head slightly, seeing the boy she had met last night. Austin, the prefect, she recalled. He had been, well, nice? She felt concern, worry, anxiety… which fed right into her own. She didn't know where she was. Who is Madam Pomfrey?

A plump woman in a starched white apron came quickly into view, waving a wand. Jena ducked her head.

"Child, be still now, while I check the diagnosis spell." she gently chided. Jena watched her movements carefully, obeying instantly. She didn't feel anything, so this woman obviously hadn't hexed her. Yet.

"Well, it's good you're awake. Are you in any pain?" Jena looked at the woman blankly. Was that a trick question of some kind?

"Does anything hurt, child?" the Matron asked again, a little more firmness in her tone. Jena shook her head.

"You tell me or Mr. Murphy here if you experience any. We have some more potions for you to take, and then I want to start you on some food. Maybe some broth our juice, and then we will let you rest again."

Jena just stared at the witch. What was happening? When were they returning her to her father? Potions? Healing potions cost galleons. A lot of galleons.

"I can't pay for potions, Ma'am. I'll be alright without them." she stated quietly, although her voice was rough with sleep, a blush heating her cheeks. She couldn't pay for the food either, but surely they wouldn't begrudge her a meal, but food cost a wizard very little…

"You don't have to worry about who is paying, Ms. Kearns, and yes, you do need the potions, and no, you won't be alright without them. Now I won't hear any more of this nonsense." the matron said sternly, laying out several small vials next to her bed.

The girl looked into the face of the matron. She could feel her agitation, aggravation, and concern. The woman was worried. Was she lying about the potions? Would this woman have to pay for them herself?

"Mr. Murphy, may I ask your assistance in lifting her up against the pillows so she can swallow more easily?"

"Of course." he said quickly getting up and approaching the side of the bed. Madame Pomfrey was now to her left, and both hovered over her. She did her best not to panic.

"Now Ms. Kearns, we are going to both link an arm behind you right at the base of your back and if you can scoot up against the pillows that would be lovely, alright dear?" the matron explained briskly, not really waiting a reply before they both stooped down. It was too much-they were too close, and too much had happened. She wanted to get away from this place, away from this woman, and out of this mess. As the woman's hand came toward her, she finally uttered one sharp yelp of fear, and pushed with all her strength away from the woman, trying desperately to go to the other side of the bed, but avoid the boy on the other side. When she realized in her movement, that he too was way too close, she suddenly ducked, trying to cover her head with both of her arms, and curl her legs up to protect her middle. However, so close out of surgery, the combination of sudden movement, trying to move her legs and bend at the same time was a poor one. Pain shot through her side lighting hot, and she voice a strangled cry, this one in not only primal fear, but agony.

"Ms. Kearns!" the little mediwitch gasped in shock, not understanding the sudden behavior of the child.

Austin saw the girls eyes go from furtive and observant to wide with fear, but was also unprepared for the resultant lunge toward freedom. However, unlike the mediwitch, his first reaction was not to step back, but to lunge in the same direction, to catch her should she try to get out of bed. In his awkwardness, he wasn't quite sure how he ended up squatting next to the bed, one arm under the girls legs, on arm behind her back, with most of her weight cradled against her chest. He felt her shaking, and could both feel and hear her quick desperate breaths.

"Jena," he murmured quietly. "It's alright. Let's get you set up so you can take your medicine, ok?" he said, repositioning her quickly as the mediwich studied the small girl intently, a scowl on her warm features. She waved her wand again.

"Well, child, you certainly didn't do that surgery site any good. You must move slowly and sit still!" the mediwitch ordered sternly. Austin quickly sat back, although the girl was shaking like a leaf. He looked up at the mediwitch in uncertainly.

"Well, Mr. Murphy, if you would be so kind as to hand her the small green potion, and then dark pink one, I will arrange a bite for the both of you with the house elves." Frowning, the mediwitch strode purposefully toward her office.

"Jena." He tried again, but the girl just rested against the pillows, her breaths coming out in shallow pants, her eyes closed. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Jena. Are you alright? Is there anything I can get you?" he asked quietly, not quite certain how he was supposed to get the young girl to voluntarily take the potions.

She opened her eyes slowly. He was still crouched next to the bed, but he was a pace further back, and concern and fear was all she felt. She shook her head.

"All right then," he said quietly, trying to gather his nerve. "Green first, right." he mumbled to himself, taking the small bottle off the table and uncorking it. Crouched down as he was, he was a head below Jena's eye level and handed it to the girl. She did not reach out for the potion, but continued to watch him a peculiar expression on her face.

"You have to take the potion, Jena." he stated quietly.

"I can't pay for it." she repeated, her cheeks flushing pink.

"Well, you heard what Madame Pomfrey said – that doesn't matter."

She studied him again and slowly reached out, hand trembling. When she made contact with the potion, Adam realized that the hand was shaking too badly to keep it steady.

"Hey, let me help," he said shifting so he could guide her hand with his. She withdrew her hand as if burned.

"Jena, what's wrong? I am only trying to help." he said bewildered.

A deep baritone sounded from the entry of the hospital wing. "Mr. Murphy, why don't you sit that potion down for a moment, and help Madame Pomfrey with lunch? I need a word with Ms. Kearns."

Mr. Murphy, clearly relieved at the dismissal scampered off as he was bid. Professor Savoy approached the bed Jena was situated in, assessing the mussed stated of the linens, and how the small bed seemed to engulf the small wisp of a child. He could see the shaking of the girl's entire body, and apprehension was written in every line of her body.

He kept his voice quiet and calm, but as neutral as possible, and made sure he was not within reach of the child.

For her part, she was terrified. This is where her punishment would be meted out. What was she thinking to sneak on the train and steal the dinner? Now, she had gotten sick, and they had paid for healers and potions. Her father was going to be so angry; it would be wonder if she was able to survive the next beating. Fear choked her throat and brought tears to her eyes, which she desperately tried to keep from falling.

"Ms Kearns. I want you to take slow, even breaths. You must calm down." he watched as the young girls eyes widened in surprise.

"You were very ill, and scared, and came to us for help. We are going to help you. But you are going to have to calm down, and trust us for a bit. That may be very hard, but I want you to try."

He surveyed the potions next to the bed. A general healing potion, he grimaced realizing it was one that Poppy brewed, and not one of the high strength ones a potion master can brew, a blood replenishing potion, and a pain potion. Unfortunately, the pain potion was the only one with sedative properties, and she couldn't take that until she had tried to eat. He fished in his robe pocket that was magically enhanced to carry a few vials of his own potions, and withdrew a vial. Checking to see that Madam Pomfrey was still scarce, lest she see the incriminating evidence of a Severus Snape potion being used, he quickly moved forward and handed the open vial to the girl.

"Jena, please take a sip of this. It will help with your breathing."

She felt confused. Nothing negative was coming off the man. Generally, she felt concern, and mild curiosity, and a bit of apprehension. She didn't want to take the potion, but she didn't want to make the man angry either, or angrier in the event he was covering up about her being in trouble. She took a small swallow of the potion and felt a warm tingling settle over her, and a quiet sereneness she had never felt before.

"That was just a calming draught, so you can think more clearly."

"Are they expensive?" she asked fearfully.

"Heavens child, I brewed it myself and I am not a potions master… I shouldn't charge you for it even if I could."

He sat there quietly, waiting with ease the number of minutes he knew the potion needed to take full effect.

"Now, I am going to assist you with the next potion. I am going to come behind your and steady your hand so you can drink it without wasting any." Professor Savoy waited to move until he saw the child glance up at him and give a brief, hesitant nod.

He moved slowly, but not so slow that the child would find it patronizing, and perched beside her on the bed. He reached out with the healing potion and waited for the small quaking hand to reach out. He kept his hand on the vial, and guided it to her lips. She took the first swallow, and he was glad that he had helped her as the bitter taste caused her to gag, almost spitting it up, but he quickly poured more potion into her mouth, urging her head back, and the child swallowed convulsively, tears coming to the corners of her eyes.

"Thank you Jena. That is not an easy potion to take. You did well." he said soothingly. He was aware that she was staring at him, speechless. Obviously she wasn't used to praise. He conjured a glass of cool water with his wand. 

"This is just plain water. Let's have you take a few sips to get that last potion down before we try the blood replenisher."

He saw her eyes widen in surprise, and quickly look down at her hands. He kept the water held out to her, though, maintaining the position until she hesitantly reached up for the glass again. Her hands were still shaking, but much less prominently. The calming draught helped. He helped her with a few slow sips, be sure to keep his face completely neutral, and his breathing even. He sensed that any impatience from him and the child would not accept his presence in close proximity.

"Enough?" he asked, after she had taken several sips. She nodded once, swallowing hard again, and he helped her with the final potion as Austin returned to the bedside. The girl tensed. Professor Savoy slowly moved away, to sit in the straight backed chair next to the side of the bed.

"Mr. Murphy, why don't you pull up a chair on this side," he said, indicating next to himself. He knew form his time as a Death Eater that victims of violence did not like to watch two fronts. By positioning both of them on a single side, he would be saving her the trouble of keeping track of both.

"Now Ms. Kearns," he said, once the prefect had settled himself "we will speak a few minutes while we waiting on your meal, and then leave you to rest. I will have a few questions, and want you to answer them honestly, and will answer any questions you have at the end." he waited until she acknowledged his words with a nod before he continued.

"First, I want you to know that I have secured a scholarship for you to stay at Hogwarts. It is a working scholarship. You will be apprenticed to me essentially. I will be responsible for your well being and assigning tasks that will help you earn your keep. As I am responsible for you, but also have many other responsibilities, I have asked Mr. Murphy's assistance, and he has agreed. He will hold everything that we discuss in the strictest confidence. If you should require assistance of any kind and I am not immediately available, you are to seek Mr. Murphy immediately. Do you understand?" he asked, watching as the girl studied him furtively through lowered lashes.

Again, he waited patiently as the child gave him a furtive nod.

"Very well. You stated your father hurt you just before you collapsed. Can you tell me what happened?"

She glanced up suddenly. Her head felt stuffy, like she had a cold, but instead of it being full of congestion, it was full of warm fuzz. She could sense calm from the man, and curiosity, but nothing more. No one's feelings were every that simple. And Austin – she could sense his unease; well, it was certainly written all over his face too, but nothing more. Her head hurt, and she was suddenly realized how very tired she was. What was she to say? How could she answer these questions? Scholarship – what was that? What would they have her do to earn her keep? She shivered slightly. The distant past where such things meant horrible torment filled her mind.

"Ms. Kearns?" Professor Savoy tried again. "Can you answer the question?"

Her gaze dropped down to her hands. "I don't understand sir," she replied, her voice barely over a whisper.

Professor Savoy studied the girl. She was obviously afraid, but what he had said was fairly simple. Perhaps he needed to take things a bit more slowly with the child? He just barely held back a huff of impatience.

"You are safe, Ms. Kearns." He watched as grey eyes, glassy with pain and fatigue met his, disbelief and wariness clearly visible.

"I went to your home, and met Mr. Kearns. I understand that your family does not have the means to pay for school, and you are in need of an education. Since we are unsure of your academic standing or merit, it must be a working scholarship. A scholarship is where the school pays for your education in exchange for its own benefit, such as the prestige of educating an exceptional scholar who will go on and make a name for the school, or perhaps perform a service at a later date should you show promise. Would you care to enter into such an agreement?" he asked softly.

He noticed her wariness did not lessen, and something dark and wary flashed into eyes – a haunted look much too old for such a small child.

"What services were you thinking I could provide you, sir?" she asked, her words coming out carefully, measured and slow.

"Not to me, per se, but the school. Perhaps cleaning or organizing, or assisting professors with various chores. As you get older, and your skills come to light, you may be apprenticed to a teacher to pay back tuition, or may receive a stipend and be sent to work for the Ministry of Magic." He explained quietly.

Relief was evident in the child's face, but so was fatigue, and something he couldn't quite make out.

"Alright sir, I… I think I would like that." she replied carefully, her eyes seeking her hands once again.

"Now, we have to notify Wizarding Family Services of your injuries. It might be easier for you to tell me about them first; sometimes, the report from the teacher is enough for their entire investigation." He watched as the child continued to stare at her hands. "Are you willing to answer a few questions?"

"Yes sir." she replied, whisper barely audible in the echoing ward.

"Your father, you said that he kicked you?" he prodded gently.

A nod. "A verbal answer if you will."

"Yes sir."

"Please tell me what happened." He asked, keeping his tone soft, almost pleading. He cringed. Was this really him talking to the girl? Where did that come from? Why should he want to help her?

She cleared her throat. Where to begin? She was uncertain of what he was asking. Why would it mattered what happened?

"I didn't stoke the fire up." she replied quietly. Professor Savoy rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Jena," he said, a bit more firmly, "start at the beginning. What were you doing?"

"When he kicked me?" she asked, confusion clearly written on her face. The Professor stifled a sigh. What was he to do with the girl? She actually didn't seem to realize that the worthless drunk that she was spawned from was at fault here.

"Start with that day. What did you do that day?" he probed, trying to get her talking more, "And I would appreciate it if you would look at me when we are talking.

The girl drew in a deep breath and her eyes reached his, flicked over to the prefect and looked at him again.

"I got up at my usual time, it was Friday, and did my chores. Friday is laundry day and I change the bed clothes, and weed the garden." she replied quietly.

"So after your chores, what did you do?" Professor Savoy prompted. He watched as her eyes furrowed in more confusion.

"I guess I didn't do anything, sir." came the hesitant reply.

"For how long did you do absolutely nothing?" asked the professor, not managing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"I am not sure," she replied, "but he came home that evening, and he is always cross when he first comes home, so I just try to stay out of sight, mostly, and then he fell asleep in the living room. So I had to be quiet and try not to wake him, so I lay down in my nook. I must have drifted off – I didn't mean to, Professor, really." She replied, anxiety clear in her young voice.

"Jena, was it dark when he came home?" he asked quietly.

"Yes sir, just."

"And you did chores from the time you got up until then, and nothing else?" he asked, watching her brow furrow once again in confusion.

"Yes sir."

"Jena, is it light out when you get up?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes it's just after day break."

"So you were both sleeping, then what happened?"

"Well, I am not sure. I was woken by him stumbling, he said something about me not having stoked the fire," the professor was dismayed as he watched the girls cheeks color at this statement; she actually seemed to be embarrassed, as if it was some sin to not stoke a fire, "and then he came out in the kitchen. He didn't' want to reach down I don't think, for fear of losing is balance, so he just kicked into my nook a few times. One of the kicks connected really hard. It hurt worse than it has before. I guess it was just a freak shot…" the girl said, returning her Professor's gaze uncertainly.

"So, does this happen frequently?" he asked watching the prefect out of the corner of his eye. He was impressed to see that the boy was maintaining and outward façade of calm; the only way giving away the boys ire was the iron grip he had on the arms of his chair.

"No sir. I almost always remember to stoke the fire. I didn't Friday because I didn't want to wake him and make him angry." she replied, her eyes finding her hands once again.

"I see. Does your father punish you often for things you forget?"

"I don't forget many things, sir. Honest," pale grey eyes met his again with something akin to panic. "I will work hard sir, if you let me stay."

"Of that I have no doubt. I was just wondering though, how often does your father strike you, either kicking or hitting?"

"Not all that often sir."

"Once a week?"

"Well… uh, if you count slaps and just pushing, I guess that often, maybe twice a week?" she replied, obviously not distressed by her answer.

"And this does not upset you?" he asked, his voice staying neutral.

She was getting very nervous about the questions. Was he regretting her scholarship? Would he send her back to her father, and demand payment for the treatment of her injuries? She knew she was worthless; she just wished there was something she could do about that. If she could learn something useful, maybe she could become useful to someone. How she wanted to say at the school!

Professor Savoy watched as a myriad of emotions passed over the girl's face, but the most prominent was confusion.

"I try hard not to deserve it sir. I promise I am a hard worker." she replied, hoping her sincerity bled through. Her head was starting to ache, and she still could only sense curiosity and a growing irritation from the man, other than that it was flat. She felt apprehension from the prefect, but nothing else. She started to tremble slightly. Why couldn't she feel anything right?

"Jena. Try to remember the last time you were punished. What was it for?" Professor Savoy asked.

"Professor, I don't understand." she said, her voice strained, her grey eyes looking searchingly at him.

"What is it you don't understand?" he asked, confusion clearly in his voice.

"I already told you I will work hard for you. I will do better than I did there. I promise." she explained, earnestness and fatigue battling for dominance in her young voice.

"Jena, listen to me. I need to find out what your father did because it was wrong. You might not believe me now, but no child deserves to be kicked or punched by their guardian, ever - even if you did something very, very wrong. Some people think that corporal punishment, such as spanking, is ok, so long as it leaves no injury. But some people don't believe even that. It is never ok to deliberately injure a child for any reason. What your father did is wrong Jena. I need you to tell me what he did so that I can help make sure he doesn't do it to you again."

Jena had looked at him startled, gray eyes piercing, confusion, fear and distrust clearly written on her face.

"I know you don't believe me now. But you need to learn to trust me. I am your head of house and I will do what it takes to keep you safe." he continued quietly, watching her carefully.

Madam Pomfrey entered then, bringing with her a little elf, hovering a few trays.

"Lunch. Most of these potions will be more effective with a little food in your stomach, she said cheerily, breaking up the intensity, but coming too quickly at the girl, who startled. The prefect glanced expression incredulous at his head of house. How could the Matron miss how much she was upsetting the young girl?

"Madam Pomfrey is most protective of her charges," Professor Savoy explained at the nervous girl whose face went completely blank as a tray holding a thin porridge, milk, juice and a bit of toast was arranged in her lap. "She knows that everyone knows she is here to seem them well, and has the very best of intentions. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Murphy?"

"Of course professor." he said, quickly catching on to his professor's tack, and taking up a tray of his own.

"Jena, we will talk more after you have rested. Please, be thinking about your life, and how to describe it. Don't think I am looking for something you did wrong. I just need to know about how you live. Nothing you can say will make a difference; you will still go to school here. Do you understand?"

The child's eyes maintained their fix on the mediwitch, who bustled about the bed, getting her meal situated and fixing her covers. The breath of relief the girl exhaled when the Matron was finally satisfied was almost enough to make the Professor laugh, if the situation wasn't so dire. He didn't know what further surprises lay ahead with his young charge, but he certainly couldn't be certain they were all over. In fact, he had to shake off the hopeless feeling that the surprises had truly yet to begin. He kept his face studiously blank even as a sense of foreboding slithered down his spine.


	11. Chapter 11 Points and Prejudice

Congratulations to Risi – who was the first to respond to my question on my profile page. Risi gets a 10K word drabble involving two characters of Risi's choosing in any scenario posed within 7 days of her giving me parameters for the story. I will be posting future contests as my story continues.

Disclaimer: Fan fiction is written by (surprise!) fans, who spend money. Obviously, this is fan fiction, I am a fan and I spend money on HP. So I am not making money from this, not now, not ever. Ms. Rowling doesn't even know I exist and I am just fine with that. On with the story…

After the two children had finished their meal, he had gently coaxed Jena into taking her last potion. She had taken a long time to fall into slumber, glancing fearfully around the open room. Professor Savoy had finally simply spelled a privacy screen around her, much to the mediwitch's annoyance. He was somewhat at a loss with the Matron; he had never known her to be that obtuse before. He would need to speak to her in private. Classes started in the morning, however, and he wanted to get his Prefect back to his common room, and make a check on his snakes.

"Professor? Did Jena… well, she wasn't really talking about being lazy, you know doing a few chores and then doing nothing as most do during the summer holidays, was she?" the prefect's quietly spoken question breaking into his musings.

"No, Mr. Murphy, I don't believe so."

"She really worked form sun up to sun down?"

"In all likelihood." he replied dryly.

"Sir, does she really think she was being lazy or does she thing we would see her as lazy?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, she might see it as being lazy if she stopped working without being instructed to do so, and she was definitely afraid that we would see her as lazy for having done that. She also didn't see anything wrong with her punishment." the professor replied quietly.

"How can that be?" he asked, "Surely she has seen other kids?"

"Yes. But she has been different. She only knows that she is different." Professor Savoy replied quietly, considering the conversation with the girl carefully. "It will be our job, and the job of her house, to teach her that she is just like every other Slytherin. It will not be an easy task." In the coming days, he wondered just how true that statement would come to be.

Professor Savoy walked into the common room with the 5th year prefect, and noticed a quiet, controlled chaos. There appeared to be a study group already in progress… ah. Mr. Abernathy's etiquette group, of course. He stifled a smirk. Well, the boy would learn.

"Mr. Abernathy, starting with the first years already?" he asked quietly, eyeing the five children gathered round the surly 7th year prefect. He noticed that Morganna Jorgenson was actually the younger sibling of his other 7th year prefect, who was being somewhat unsuccessful in trying to unobtrusively monitor the lesson. While attempting a look of dignified apathy, it was very clear that she was untrusting of the 'class'.

"Sir. We were just covering status, seating and ranking."

"I see. And I assume you are doing that by blood status?" he asked, carefully keeping his face neutral. Damn. He had been so consumed with the young girl upstairs that he hadn't gotten a good grip in his own common room. He swallowed a sigh. Well, it wasn't too late.

"Of course sir."

"And exactly how are you determining that?" he asked.

The 7th year's prefect eyes snapped to his. "I am not sure what you mean sir."

"I mean, I assume you have yourself at the head of the table as the heir of a pureblood family, and the oldest present. The two boys are seated to your right, as they are on the dominant side and ranked by both heir status and age. The girls are to your left, the non dominant side, with the highest ranking girl present anchoring the end of the table, correct?

"Well, it would seem you don't need the study group," replied the prefect, cheekily.

"That's five points for your cheek. Now do me the favor of answering my question. How are you determining blood status? Or do you need some additional 'motivation'?"

"Well, luckily, the first years have all memorized their family trees as most pureblood families still keep that practice, so we were able to figure that out in short, order, sir. Of course, Savoy, I am not sure that's a British family name, is it? Sir." the youth asked in a slow drawl, taking on a surly 'Sir' at the end not quite slowly enough to get a detention.

"Actually, it's French, but I am from New Zealand, and my family was indeed from England at one point. Be that as it may, let me assure you that while it is important to know this tradition, where it originated from, and under what conditions you should follow this type of etiquette… teaching it as the norm is not acceptable. So, you are willing to take these young one's word on their heritage?" he asked, letting just a hint of snideness enter his tone.

"That's rude, sir." said the female 7th year prefect, dropping her pretense of remaining aloof. "One should take the word of the witch or wizard, unless you are certain." she said, tone flat, and eyes showing a bit of unease.

"And you are?"

"Bristol. Bristol Jorgenson. 7the year girl's prefect, sir."

"And, I would surmise, elder sister of Morganna Jorgenson, seated to Ms. Nott's left?"

"Yes sir."

"So, I am telling you then, that I am head of my family, the Patriarch. Lord Savoy. Who moves?"

"Well sir, we are already seated, the hostess would likely take the women and leave to give you a seat politely." replied Abernathy.

"So then you would take the hostess seat?" Professor Savoy asked, eyebrow going toward the hairline.

"Well, I don't know your blood status, do I? You are from New Zealand." said Mr. Abernathy, somewhat crossly.

"But I told you. How would you test it if you didn't believe me?" he asked.

"I could cast a status charm." He said slowly, suddenly realizing he had no idea where his head of house was going with this line of questioning.

"Do you know how that charm works, Mr. Abernathy?" he asked.

"It tests if your blood status," he said, rolling his eyes at his professor.

"No. It tests your knowledge of your blood status. If a muggle were convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that they were a pure blood wizard, that spell would show them as such. That spell measures conviction, in much the way that Verisatum measured truth." he explained.

"So what, if you doubted if you were pure blood, and you actually were a pure blood, it would show you as a mudblood?" the boy asked incredulously.

"Another 10 points for your foul language, Mr. Abernathy. And yes, it would show you less as pureblood." he replied, allowing the first hints of irritation to enter his voice. "And if you knew nothing of your heritage, it would show nothing. The spell wouldn't work at all. But that is not why the spell is worthless Mr. Abernathy. I have been remiss in setting you loose with these young ones. Blood status Does. Not. Matter. Muggleborn, half blood, pure blood are all irrelevant. It is your actions, your deeds that show your true convictions. We must learn the ways of our culture, and understand the traditional roles; heir, head of the family, hostess, mother, matriarch – all crucial that we learn them. But important not in and of themselves; we learn them to understand our history, or choices as a culture and our choices to adhere to that which adds value to wizard kind, and reject that which does not honor us." Professor Savoy explained feverently, voice warm with passion, eyes snapping with repressed anger.

"You can't say the value to the wizarding world is the same for a muggleborn than a pureblood?" the prefect scoffed at his professor. "Surely the family of a muggle having no knowledge of us, having never contributed to our culture, would not be worth the family of a pureblood?"

"Mr. Dearborn, are you muggleborn?" he asked, turning to the most junior male at the table.

"Aye sir. Half-blood."

"And has your family ever murdered the sole heir of a pureblood family?" he asked quietly.

"Wha – I…?" the young boy sputtered, not sure what to think of Professor's question.

"What are you getting at?" snapped the prefect, hissing out 'sir' as the Professor's glare hit his eyes.

"I am pointing out that the war which has torn this country apart for the past 20 years was waged by one maniacal madman in the name of the importance of blood purity. One half-blood madman, as Tom Riddle, also known as Voldemort," the professor spat " who killed off no less that 5 pureblood lines –all members dead, their bloodline lost to us. Prince? Gone. Pettigrew? Gone. In addition, many lines now have a single or a combined single heir – Potter, 1 heir, Malfoy, 1 heir, Black, 1 heir, and that heir is the one and the same as the Malfoy heir. The Kearns heir lies recovering from her injuries, her sole crime being a pureblood who was born into service of a madman. No muggle has done more to threaten the very existence of Wizard-kind, and yet you set him to your left, to place him beneath you. Ms. Kearns was borne into servitude. Will you have her at your feet? What has she done to deserve that fate?" the professor's voice crescendo his form looming over the very angry teen.

"Your point, sir?" snapped the prefect, his pureblood culture not allowing him back down from the onslaught against the values he was born into.

"My point is to understand traditions, but not be ruled by them. So, I come to your table, what do you do?" he asked again, getting the smoldering anger in his voice under control.

"I am not going to answer that, sir. Why don't you share with me your wisdom?" the boy returned snidely.

"Another 5 points Mr. Abernathy, and you are very much trying my patience." Professor Savoy said forcefully. "I would suggest, in ignorance, always treat those you don't know as equal. If they are more powerful than you, they will see your comfort level as quiet confidence, if they are less powerful, as humility, and if you are equal, then it was correct. But in general, never assume you are better or worse than anyone. You both put your pants on one pant leg at a time, and you all need to eat, sleep and love. You are equal. And I will not have any more of the elitist blood garbage being spewed as some sort of oracle. Are we clear?" the professor watched closely as a myriad of emotions played over the young man's face.

"Yes sir." the boy finally snapped.

"Good. Then this lesson is over. Your assignment is an essay, not less than a foot, outlining the arguments Mr. Abernathy and I made and why you agree or disagree. Dismissed!" Professor Savoy states, snapping the last word sharply at the children to get them to disperse quickly.

"Mr. Murphy, still with me?" he replied, noticing the boy had stepped out of his periphery, but was now moving back to his side

"Yes sir."

"This is where I take my leave of you. I would ask that you visit Jena each day, and two days hence, start testing her for her learning skills as the 7th year prefects should have done with the other first years. I would like to speak to you at 8 pm on Wednesday about her progress. Is this acceptable?"

"More than acceptable professor," the young prefect said, a warm smile spilling across his face.

Professor Savoy returned to his rooms. The DADA rooms were much more open and bright than his previous rooms in the dungeon. He worried about being farther away from his snakes, but in reality it was just a few flights up, and the Bloody Baron had agreed to help monitor them as he had in the past. He had been amused to find out that the ghosts were not fooled by his transformation. His mentor's strong magic combined with the potion he had developed had caused a permanent stasis in his new form. He glanced in the mirror above the cupboard that held his liquor as he poured himself a small serving on the strong spirits, still with a jolt that his raven hair and black eyes were now this person with warm sandy blond hair and soft blue eyes. He chuckled. Dumbledore had really wanted to be sure he was never recognized. He wondered if Dumbledore even knew of the ghost inability to be fooled in such a way?

When the Baron had finally come to his room, and told him that he missed the sarcastic wit but that the children were happier he had nearly choked on his tea. But the relief of having someone to converse with, someone that knew him in his entirety had been… he took another small sip as he considered what he was feeling. It had been as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Already feeling unburdened from the oppression of falling into the lure of two of the most powerful wizards of the age, the sense that he could speak freely of his being in its entirety had been nearly overwhelming.

His thoughts returned to the young girl upstairs, and he chuckled to himself. What had possessed him to name the child? Jena – little bird in Arabic – a small bird, lost in the desert. How apt for this one. He sighed inwardly. What had possessed him to take guardianship of this child? He shook his head. He had spent the last nearly two years running around the continent, trying to get a grip on who he was now, and what he was to become now that had had a future beyond the war. It made him crazy. Shaking away his dilemma, he buried himself in the tasks at hand – a lifetime of using this escape made him fall to it as a man to water in the desert. He had a letter to write to Wizarding Family Services. That would keep him distracted. Nicely.

The Sunday staff meeting was a Hogwarts tradition. Professor Savoy had gone on from the letter, to last minute checks of his lesson plans, penning an application to take his Master exam at the next holiday – all in all a profitable afternoon. Remembering to wear a mask of quiet curiosity of the exact nature of the staff meeting, he entered the staff lounge.

"Professor Savoy, ready for classes?" enquired the headmistress, already ensconced at the head of the table.

"Of course. I am very pleased with the resources, and eager to get working."

"And your accommodations suit your needs?" enquired the Headmistress.

"Yes, the rooms are fine. But if I may, I have an interest in potions as my mother was a potion master. I wouldn't want to intrude on the lab of a colleague, but is there a bit of space I could use?" he asked neutrally. The space in his quarters meant for dueling and the like was unsuitable. Too much natural light. To many delicate ingredients degraded with sun, he needed a space in the dungeon to work and keep an eye on his snakes. This opportunity was just too good to pass up.

"Well, we have a number of small labs that have served apprentices in the past, but most have been vacant or sealed for 50 years or more. But I will be happy to update one for you, that ought to be simple enough." replied the headmistress with a negligent wave of her hand. He was of course, aware of these rooms and kept the smirk off his face. He knew just the one he wanted. It had a secret entrance into the common room. He wondered if the Headmistress new of it? Soon the remainder of the staff arrived, and they got down to business.

"Now that your houses are settled, I will ask each of the heads of house to give an update. We will ha Eugene go last as he seems to have the most difficulties at the moment. Filius, why don't you begin with Ravenclaw?" she gestured to her deputy.

"Well, we have an excellent group – 4 dorm rooms, 26 in all first years. All have a good grasp on the wizarding world. I have one child that is phobic of the dark it would seem, and none that have shown signs of home sicknesses. One child has night terrors; mother was an Auror that died a few years ago…

Savoy listened with half an ear. Auror's children or Order member's children who had lost a mother, father, sister or brother in each of the other houses. A nut allergy, a diabetic, a few asthmatics – good thing he was getting his potions mastery he thought, thinking that it wasn't just his snakes that would need some help. He couldn't help but notice that none of his colleagues mentioned if any of the children were abused, or had learning difficulties, or needed supplies. Didn't they check for such things?

The last staff meeting of the weekend was always reserved for house trouble and sharing observations, and any last minute problems. This was not his first time being the focus of this meeting, but it was his alter ego's - Professor Savoy's first, but only years of being a spy was keeping him from panicking as the struggled to remain 'uncertain' but still get the very best information to his colleagues and work things out for his children, his snakes.

"Yes, I have one child who is clearly abused – Ms. Kearns. The Slytherins have named her Jena." Well, not technically a lie. He was a Slytherin, after all. "She has only been in the custody of her father for a couple of years, and the abuse had not been as harsh. However, she was abused worse before then. She will likely be very timid. Please approach her slowly, and do not call her out. She appears to trust men a bit more than women. It may have been her mother who was abusive. It's difficult to know at this point. The five other first years are either pureblood or half-blood. Morganna is Bristol's younger sister, and there appears to be a very good sibling bond there. Ms. Nott and Ms. DeWitt will need watching, they appear to b bullying a bit already. All have what they need for their supplies, and seem well organized. I have a question however, do you test your students to ensure they have the proper skills for class?"

"What do you mean?" asked the Headmistress.

"Well, we can't be certain as many children are home schooled that they know their penmanship, reading , math and such?" he asked, trying to keep a note of uncertainty in his voice.

"No, that really is not necessary. It will become obvious in their classes." Stated the headmistress.

"But not right away. Wouldn't it be better to get them some extra help if they needed it before they fell behind?" he asked looking around. Some of his colleagues appeared thoughtful, other simply gave him patronizing looks. Let them think he was the new, idealistic teacher then. He had only ever worried about his snakes, but maybe now, without the war, without the madmen, he could finally do something about the things that drove him crazy in the past, the things that made him angry when he was a child without proper clothes or books, having to try and make do with whatever he could get his hands on. Maybe he could spare more children that fate…

"Well, if you find time to do that with your slytherins we'd love to hear how that went Eugene." Replied the headmistress not unkindly. The tone wasn't completely patronizing.

Professor Savoy studied the group for a long moment. These were order member, members of the 'light'. And yet they didn't check for the neglected. Was it in ignorance? Were they so convinced of the goodness of the world that they could not conceive of the darkness? Or was it simply too hard to think of such things, to know they happened with a frequency that most would find unsettling? Were they cowards that would look away at such things?

"I will find the time Headmistress, and use my Prefects to best advantage. Also, I wanted to say that my upper years appear cliquish as well, with Mr. Abernathy being a bit of a lead in that. I have already taken the young man down a peg or two, but won't be adverse with my colleague's gentle assistance in the matter." He noted.

"Well, the head of Slytherin has already docked him 40 points. This is quite frankly unprecedented. You have no desire for the house cup?" Professor Savoy noted that the Headmistress kept her stern expression, but in his former life he had know her many ears, and knew what a barb of friendship it actually was.

"I trust my colleagues, headmistress. I may take points, but you all award them for the well prepared, the hard worker, and the child that goes beyond the required. Slytherins will excel." he replied.

"Care to make a wager on that?" asked the Headmistress, a flash of a cat's cunning coming t her eyes.

"A friendly wager. Yes. My students will make up the 40 points in the first week." He said… or?" he cocked an eyebrow in invitation.

"Or? Or a bottle of Ogden's? Elf Wine?" she suggested.

"Or… you offer 10 hours of tutoring to the student of my choice." He smirked inwardly. He would leverage her propensity for wagers to help him gain the cup. Once entrenched, it would be quite easy to manipulate the woman into a bet on the cup itself.

"And if win, you get 10 hours of administrative duties of my choice?" she replied cattily.

"Agreed." Professor Savoy replied.

The first week of school. A wager, a bully to watch and a child to get out of the infirmary. It should be quite a week he thought.


	12. Chapter 12  No Dungeons

Disclaimer: Still haven't made any money on fan fiction. Not exactly sure how I would do that – wonder if I would have ever made it as a Slytherin? Also, Risi – you won a drabble – send me an idea (two characters and a genre or id) and I will write you a short. Hurry, or I will put this up for another contest…

Sorry this was a day late too, but had some parental unit issues. They are handled for the moment… on with the story…

*hp*ph*hp*ph*

The first 3 days of classes had been… exhilarating, if he was honest with himself. Allowing himself to acknowledge that the children in front of him desired to learn. And now that he taught DADA, he was without the fear of them getting injured or blowing something up. It wasn't like potions. They didn't get placed in harm's way until he was certain they wouldn't come to any. Surely, they could still have accidents, yes – but not to the severity or the consequence with potions! Professor Savoy sighed in contentment. He could not remember the last time he felt this way. He just hoped it would last.

He sat back, examining his neatly organized desk. The first set of essays to grade had come in today, and it was just shortly before 8 pm and he was already finished, an unthinkable accomplishment in his prior potions role.

He sighed as he leaned back. He was expecting his 5th year prefect any moment to report on Jena. He had not been able to speak to her in the last 3 days. He had spent his time interviewing the rest of his house and reviewing the reports from his prefects on what the status was for each child. He had a few other children whose home lives needed to be addressed but no others by direct intervention. He had escorted 3 students to the hospital wing for health checks, thinking that he could look in on the ailing first year as well, but had found her sleeping each time. He regretted that. He was unsure how Jena would respond to his seeming disinterest. But he knew Mr. Murphy had been attending to her, and that she had been visited. He was roused from his musings by a soft knock at his office door.

"Enter."

He studied the boy as he entered. He was a serious young man but had an approachable face, and a warm, soft smile played at his lips. Clear, blue-green eyes were set in cream skin, framed by blackish auburn hair that was cut short and lay against his head in soft waves.

"Good evening professor."

"Mr. Murphy, have a seat."

"Thank you sir."

"I take it you have just come from the infirmary?"

The boy nodded, but his eyes grew troubled.

"I have sir. Jena is recovering. Madame Pomfrey asked me to tell you that she will be released in a day or two. She is feeling much better. But she is very quiet." he replied.

"That is not uncommon. I doubt she has very much practice speaking with others. I think she has been quite isolated." he replied, mentally kicking himself for not finding time to speak with the girl himself.

"Yes, I have that feeling too." replied the boy, "However the testing didn't go so well either. Jena has had no schooling." Austin informed him quietly.

"No schooling? So she was home schooled?" Professor Savoy asked, one eyebrow rising toward his hairline.

"No, no schooling of any kind. She can only read a few words; she can't write. She can figure out basic mathematical things, but only in the general sense. The only thing she seems very solid on in service and etiquette." answered the boy, worry evident in both his expression and tone.

"In short, she has had perfect preparation to be a house elf." stated the professor irritatedly. This was going to complicate things considerably. The Headmistress was already disinclined toward the scholarship. The fact that child would need to be on a modified study schedule for the foreseeable future was not going to make things any easier.

"Sir?"

"House elves cannot read, cannot write. They can do magic, but will only perform magic that helps their masters. They know etiquette and their role in their household and little else." Professor Savoy explained, watching a deep frown crease the prefect's brow.

"I didn't realize sir. How can we teach her all that she has missed and have her keep up in her classes? She has already missed the first 3 days, and will likely miss the entire first week." asked the boy, concern evident, as well as frustration.

"Well, our task did certainly get much more difficult, but it is not impossible, especially if Jena is willing to work hard. And we do not have to do this alone. I think it is time to involve her classmates." replied Professor Savoy thoughtfully.

"How so sir? Jena may not want people to know that she has such problems." replied the prefect worriedly.

"It will be evident any way, Mr. Murphy. Best to enlist aid now than defend her from ridicule later. I believe that will be the topic of our next house meeting which had best happen shortly before she rejoins her dormitory."

"Alright sir. What else can I do to help?"

"Continue to visit Jena, and I will work on a schedule and what to do with our fellow Slytherins."

Hearing Professor Savoy's instructions for the dismissal it was, Austin stood with a nod of acknowledgement and headed for the door. As he turned the knob, he looked back at his new head of house. He hadn't known the man a week, but in their brief interactions, he already felt a great deal of admiration.

"Sir?"

The Professor looked up from the essays he was stacking.

"Thank you, for everything."

And the young man quickly slipped out the door, before the professor could acknowledge his words. Had he turned back, he would have been amazed to see a Professor who was completely dumbstruck.

She woke with the first light – pain free and well rested. The feeling was so unnatural to her that she was a bit anxious, truth be told. She looked around the small area cordoned off from the rest of the ward. She stretched her senses, and heard no others stirring. There had been few in the ward since she arrived. Yesterday, the Matron had allowed her up to use the facilities unaided and unsupervised. Years of habit kicked in and she slipped quickly to the facilities, showered and changed. Her stomach was still sensitive to sudden movements but was no longer painful. She pulled on the fresh pajamas that were provided and returned to her bed. She was still alone.

It had been a long few days. She had seen Austin briefly each day. He had been kind, but the longer that she was here the more wary she had grown. No one was angry with her. Food came at regular intervals. Not flawlessly, as some times it was late or early, and she would certainly never ask for it, but it arrived consistently, none the less. And medicines – she knew a small fortune had been given to her. She shivered at the thought. She wondered what duties she would perform to pay them back? There was nothing that was gained for free, she knew, and the sooner she had some way of making recompense, the better she would feel. As much as the feelings coming of Austin were positive, she could still feel a sadness, and unease. She figured it was likely the reason he was being so nice. Whatever the repayment was would be severe, and he probably felt sorry for her. And there was definitely pity in the emotions that clouded his thoughts. She shuddered. She just hoped it would not involve the things she had to do before she had been summoned to her father's home. Her heart started to beat faster, and her breathing raced. No! She would not think of such things now.

She closed her eyes, and tried to think of nothing, tried to still her racing thoughts and heart. She heard the infirmary door open and her eyes flew open. She let out a long slow breath. Growing anxious over the visitor, she was quickly relieved to hear the soft footfalls recede toward the matron's office. The one disadvantage to the privacy screens she had been provided was that she couldn't readily tell who was coming or going from the infirmary, she mused. She had carefully made the bed when she had gotten up to shower, and sat gently atop the blankets with an extra blanket pulled around her lap. She was warm all the time here, she thought to herself. How wonderful. She sighed. Such things never lasted.

She opened her eyes as she heard the matron's office door open and two sets of footsteps approached her. She smoothed out the wrinkles in the blanket carefully to stifle her nervousness.

She startled when the screen was suddenly magiked into nothingness, abruptly exposing her to Madam Pomfrey and her head of house.

"Hello Jena. I see you are up with the birds again. I will be giving you one last check and so long as you are still healing well, Professor Savoy is here to take you back to Slytherin. I bet you just can't wait to meet you classmates." stated the medi-witch with forced cheerfulness. Jena could sense resolve and concern from the medi-witch, tinged with a bit of impatience and frustration. Those, she knew were true. She had never been or done anything in her life that would earn her emotions of anything else.

Her eyes flitted to the potions master whose warm eyes gave nothing away.

"Ms. Kearns – Mr. Murphy has been reporting on your progress. I have stopped by, but you have been resting. I am pleased to see that his reports of your recovery were not exaggerated. How do you feel?" asked the professor, deliberately keeping his tone gentle, as the nervousness when the screen was taken away and the tensing

"I am better sir. I can start working as soon, maybe today?" she replied quietly, her glance quickly piercing the midi-witch as if the woman held the fate of the universe in the wand that she was currently conducting a diagnosis spell with.

The medi-witch, concentrating on her spell, only had a moment to shoot a glare Professor Savoy's way.

"Your duties won't start immediately, child. While you are relatively well healed, I am sure Madam Pomfrey is going to want you to get stronger. Also, we need to get you up to the level of the other students academically. You will have a difficult schedule without extra duties already."

"But will I be able to work enough to stay?" the professor watched as the child's eyes widened in fear.

"Of course, child. You will have to work hard to stay, but that means academically as well. I am your guardian while you are here. I care about your physical well being as well as your education." Professor Savoy was interrupted by the Medi-witch's verdict.

"She is ready to leave. However, she needs to get some weight on-I'd say 2 stone by Christmas, and I want her on a nutrient potion. I think she needs an eye exam. Jena, do you have trouble seeing at night?"

"I'm sorry, Madame?" she replied, uncertainly making her voice quaver.

"Some people have something called 'night blindness'. They don't see as well as others in low light conditions. This can be caused by the muscles in the eyes not reacting as quickly to bright lights or contrast as normal, or it can be caused by certain vitamin deficiencies." explained the DADA professor, trying to remain reassuring.

"I don't see well at night or in darkened rooms, but I just thought it was, well, just dark." Replied the child quietly with a shrug. "That's not a problem, is it?" she asked uncertainly.

"No child. We will get your eyes checked. Just be careful in situations with little light." With a flick of his wand, he transfigured the child's hospital pajamas into slithering school robes.

"We will get you some proper clothing tomorrow. Transfigured clothing really only lasts for a day or two, so that will get you through until then."

"Sir, you can just send for my clothes, you needn't spend anything." replied the Jena, a blush staining her cheeks.

The professor regarded the child carefully. She seemed embarrassed, but surely the child didn't know that he had already been to her home and seen the pathetic excuse she had for possessions? But evens so, shame was clearly visible on the child's face, averted from both himself and the medi-witch.

"Jena, there is no need to be nervous or upset." He finally said, after considering her for some time.

"Of course there isn't," exuded the medi-witch, "you will be right as rain in no time. I'll leave it to you professor." She said, making to head toward your office.

"Madame, thank you for caring for Ms. Kearns. I have an appointment during the winter holiday to sit for my mastery; I would appreciate a prioritized list of potions for Ms. Kearns at your earliest convenience. The mask of pleasant confidence fell from the woman's face.

"Truly, Professor Savoy. That is quite generous of you to start so quickly. Having help by January will greatly ease my burdens." Replied the medi-witch with some relief.

"No dear Matron, I will start making Ms. Kearns potions now; I simply won't be able to help you with your stocks until then."

"Oh, my goodness! That's quite the relief."

Professor Savoy glanced at his young charge, noting her head was further bowed, and her small frame even more hunched.

"Jena. Come, we will return to the dungeons." he replied, only to watch the child's head snap up and panic pierce her pale silvery-grey eyes.

"I have to go to the dungeons?" she asked voice shaking, hands gripping the blanket she had kept on her lap so hard that her knuckles turned white. Professor Savoy noted that the child's breathing was staring to come in quick pants. If he left her to it, she would likely hyperventilate.

"They aren't real dungeons, but rather the underground of the castle child. It's where the potions classrooms and Slytherin dormitories are. Breathe child!" he commanded, as he watched her face pale, her lips turning unnaturally dark against the paling skin. He took a step forward and carefully perched on the edge of the bed, gently touching her shoulder. He watched as she flinched away from his approach, and flinched again at his touch, her breaths becoming more rapid.

"Jena. Please relax, and breathe deeply." he muttered quietly, trying to hide his unease and impatience at the situation. It was Friday after the first full week of classes, and while it was much easier in many ways than his potion curriculum that he had taught for so many years, it was still new and a bit more work. He had hoped this wouldn't take quiet so much time.

Jena felt impatience from the man, but his touch was both gentle and undemanding. Worry was as mixed in with his impatience as uncertainty, and oddly she found it comforting as she tried to follow his direction to take deeper breaths. She was unaware of her unconscious need to make herself smaller, hunching her shoulders, while also leaning toward the soft, comforting touch.

"Thank you Jena." He said, trying to watch her although sitting so close and the child looking away made that difficult. "Can you tell me what upset you? You seemed embarrassed a bit ago, and then became afraid. Are the reasons related?"

"I – I don't think so sir. I…" she glanced at him gulping and quickly looked away. "I know I stole, I knew it was wrong. Please sir, I – I don't want to go to the dungeons."

"Did that happen before, you were in a dungeon?" the professor asked, when the child fell silent and didn't seem to be able to continue. A slight nod was felt more than seen.

"Please tell me what happened Jena. I promise you aren't in trouble, and I won't get angry. Sometimes, when things are very bad, we have to break the rules to do the right thing. You harmed no one by coming here, and it probably saved your life child." he sighed as he realized his words seemed to make no difference, the child still sat hunched and fearful. "You are not in trouble."

"My father had left, and I ran out of food. I… well I guess I got scared that he wouldn't come back. And it had been a couple days without food," the child explained, voice barely above a whisper.

"What happened? How did you get food?" he asked, when the pause went on too long, and he was fearful she wouldn't remember.

"I walked into the town. I knew I wasn't supposed to go, but I thought if I worked some, then maybe someone would be willing to give me something to eat." Her face sought his for a fleeting moment, and his heart nearly broke at the beseeching look that met his eyes before she averted her face in shame. "I am sorry sir. I swore that I'd never do something like this again. I-I should be stronger, a better person. I just go so hungry." she whispered. "I swear I'll try never to do it again."

Professor Savoy started to rub small circles on her back. He felt leagues out of his depth. He had rarely been offered comfort in his life. Offering it seemed an impossible hurdle.

"Jena, I will tell you as many times as it takes for you to understand. You are not in trouble. I believe you did the right thing. Because of your striking out to find a meal this time, you got the help you needed. I don't advocate stealing. And there were better things you might have been able to do if you knew better. It's not your fault. You didn't know any better. But you did the best you could and you harmed no one. It will be all right. Now, can you tell me how your trip into town then has anything to do with a dungeon?"

"Well, there is only one small shop in town, And I went to the proprietress, and told her I would work for food and would she consider giving me some work. She told me that I was too small and young and that she had not time for beggars. I told her I would work very hard, and that there wasn't any place else to go and get food. And she got angry at me and stormed away. I didn't think that was begging. She called me a worthless beggar. When she stormed away, she wasn't watching the store. And there were some apples and cheese right at the counter. I-I knew my father wouldn't pay for them if I took them, but I didn't know what else to do. The woman had a monitoring spell, and realized I had taken the food and called the Aurors. They took me to the Ministry." The child fell silent.

Professor Savoy waited patiently for the child to continue on her own, as he could feel her trembling beneath his gentle touch, and her back was tense, as if any more pressure would snap her like a string. But after several minutes she still did not continue.

"Jena, please tell me what happened at the Ministry."

"The Aurors took me to a room, and left me there for a really long time. Then this witch came in and searched me and took my mother's wand and found the marks on my arm. And then I had to wait again. Then this other Auror came. He asked me lots of questions. It was a really long time. I tried to tell them I was sorry, and I was just hungry. But he told me that I was just like my parents and that he would be sure that I knew what would happen to me. They took me to a cell and left me there until my father came. I-I couldn't tell time in that place. I think it was a day more, maybe two." she replied quietly.

"Did anything happen to you in the cell Jena?" Professor Savoy gently prodded, sensing from her hesitation that there was more to the story. "And how long were you there?"

"I don't know how long, but it was dark when I was taken to the ministry dungeon. And they had these awful wraiths. The entire cell was icy cold, and they wandered the hallway. Sir, I know I deserved it, but those things are awful. She suddenly looked up, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Please you can keep me locked up twice as long, or cane me or – I don't know, but please don't take me back to the Ministry dungeon." the child whispered, panic clearly edging her voice.

That did it for the man known as Professor Savoy. Watching the child tell of being frightened and starving, going in search of help, only to be harassed by the ministry thugs for a whole day and shoved into a cell guarded by dementors. And yet this child, in a time of desperation, had the will to reach out again, to try and survive. And more, he had seen enough torture victims to know that her coming out and telling this tale, when simply being asked meant that she was either completely broken beyond caring, which give her level of embarrassment didn't seem plausible, or she had an inner core of perseverance that allowed her to respond, to move on and try to gain footing to move forward. He would help this child if he was able.

He hesitantly and slowly circled his other arm around her shoulders and pulled her slowly to his chest in an awkward, sideways hug. The child became very still, but neither tried to pull away, nor engage. He took it as a small sign. If she was willing to try, so would he. And he would start by trying to make his snakes her new family.


	13. Chapter 13  A Place in the room

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't own, not rich, and Snape's dead. *sigh*. But not here! Isn't make believe great? Oh – and there is a possible reference to sexual abuse if you turn your head and squint – we may or may not address that point head on in this story at some point. It's still rated M for a reason, folks, and it's not just the smutty scene I have planned in chapter 147! (I hope I am just joking).

(Message to Risi: Risi – reply with your characters and genre and get a drabble, or I am putting it up for contest in the disclaimer next chapter.)

On with the story….

He hesitantly and slowly circled his other arm around her shoulders and pulled her slowly to his chest in an awkward, sideways hug. The child became very still, but neither tried to pull away, nor engage. He took it as a small sign. If she was willing to try, so would he. And he would start by trying to make his snakes her new family.

They sat like that for some time. All though the child scarcely drew a breath, let alone moved, little by little he felt her relax a bit into the awkward embrace. As his own anxiety withdrew, he felt somehow chagrined that he had shared something so intimate with the girl. He was her guardian, but it wasn't as if he was adopting the child, or family of any kind. But somehow he sensed this is what the child needed just now. But he also knew that he had to make sure she didn't grow too attached. His past was dark and bitter; he certainly wouldn't be the ideal candidate for raising a wounded, terrified little girl.

"Jena, sometimes doing the right thing means breaking the rules. You are just a child, so I expect you to follow all the rules unless you are in danger or are going to come to harm doing so. You were afraid and hungry and went to an adult. That was the right thing. You told the woman the truth, and she didn't help you. The Aurors should have helped you too. So the next time you needed help, you didn't tell the truth. I am afraid you have learned the hard way that adults make as many mistakes as children, Jena. It's just that the mistakes of adults can be far more harmful. The wraiths you saw are dementors and the only dungeon that has dementors is the Ministry's. When we say dungeon here, we refer to the Slytherin dormitories and common room and the potions classrooms. This is your home when you are here at Hogwarts. There is no reason to be afraid. I will escort you there; Mr. Murphy is awaiting our arrival and will work on getting you properly settled." he reassured the child quietly, and then gently helped her to stand from the bed.

She looked quickly at his face. She didn't know what to think. He had – her mind froze unable to frame complete thoughts – the professor had touched her, rubbed her back. What did he want? He didn't want her to work yet. He had sat with her on a bed, and pressed her into his side. But he had not touched her other than her back, and had not forced her to touch him. She had sensed gentleness and confusion. The man had felt uncomfortable, and anxious as well, but not anticipatory, not with _want_. That was what had made her relax. She could sense nothing that he expected her to provide, or do something for him, but rather, an anxiety that she couldn't quite name.

Once, Professor Savoy realized, he would have strode strongly through the hall, forcing the child to keep pace with her elder. But her small frame and the conflicting direct, soul-searching stares contrasting with furtive-fearful glances, kept him off balance with this child. She was healed, but underweight. Rested, but on edge. He motioned for the child to precede him, lightly resting a hand on her shoulder to guide her, allowing her to set her own pace. She glanced back, her gaze both searching and questioning. The child was full of dichotomies. He was wondering exactly what he had gotten himself into.

He noticed that the child did not seem to get more tense as they entered the dungeons. It was a good sign that she had been table to take him at this word about this being safe and her new home. He stopped at the portrait.

"This, Jena, is the entrance to the Common room. Each of the houses has a common room, which is guarded by a portrait. We are proud to say that Slytherin is the only common room guarded by a former headmaster. Phineas Nigel, may I introduce Jena Kearns, the last member of our first years to arrive."

"Sir," the girl replied toward the portrait, bowing just a bit in deference. The DADA professor was stunned. He wasn't sure where the child would have learned to do that. "I am humbled to be introduced to the most noble Lord Nigel." she replied quietly.

"Well, my, such manners! Her parents have taught her well, I see! But, Ms. Kearns, as I am but a portrait, the duties and responsibilities of being Lord Nigel now fall to my son. Flattery, however, will not get you into the common room young lady. Password?" he enquired politely, causing Professor Savoy to gape again. The Portrait was notoriously difficult; the child had just done the impossible. She had won favor with the Slytherin guardian portrait.

She glanced back uncertainly at the Professor. "I was remiss, Phineas, and have not shared it with her yet. It is Caduceus, Jena. The password will change from time to time, but you will be told the new password in advance of needing it."

"Caduceus?" said the girl uncertainly, only to have the former headmaster bow to her from within the portrait, hand flourishing to her in some parody of a gentlemanly salute, and the door popping open.

"Well, Ms. Kearns, Lord Nigel seems very impressed with your manners. Shall we meet the rest of your house?" he encouraged quietly; keeping his voice warm and expression open to hopefully calm the child's nerves.

It was a typical Saturday morning in the Slytherin common room. It was just before breakfast, which was an hour later on weekends. He was fairly certain that the other 3 houses took this as an opportunity for an hour lie-in, but on Saturdays that was not the case for Slytherin. It was one of their weekly study sessions, and so groups were scattered around the common room by age and topic. The first years were in a far corner, Mr. Abernathy looking positively thunderous at his group. He had hoped to slip the girl into the study group, have her go to breakfast with Mr. Murphy, and then take the child to get her supplies in Diagon Alley. He needed the time to get his own affairs settled to be available to her. He was frustrated, he had hoped for this hour to do so.

"Sir, if I may, what does Caduceus mean?" asked the child shyly, meeting his eyes briefly but quickly looking down fearfully.

What was it with this child and asking questions, he thought, trying not to let thee irritation he felt slip into his expression.

"In Greek mythology, it's a staff made of two serpents and topped by wings." replied the Professor quietly. "It was first wielded by Iris, who was the messenger for Hera, but later became the symbol of Mercury. Why do you ask?"

"I had never heard the word before, and wondered if it was magical." replied the child. "Thank you for telling me." she said, the gratitude in her eyes so completely out of proportion to the having simply answered a question.

"Child, I wouldn't be much of a teacher if I didn't answer questions," he replied softly. "These are the study groups, and it doesn't look as if Mr. Abernathy's is going well, does it?" he indicated, noting that a few of the groups had noticed his entrance.

Jena looked at him, a cross of apprehension and confusion on her face. "Sir? What are they studying?" There were a lot of people in the room. It was difficult for her to sense what was going on in just that corner, and she couldn't quite tell what the professor was referring to.

"Mr. Abernathy is leading a group on wizarding etiquette. You do not need to join today." He instructed quietly, holding back a sigh.

She sensed disappointment, and was fairly certain it was coming from the Professor. Was he disappointed in her already? The older boy the professor had called Mr. Abernathy seemed annoyed, but the rest just seemed bored. Maybe the Professor didn't think she was capable, and that was why he was disappointed? She just couldn't be certain.

"Sir, I can join that group. I know I haven't studied yet, but I have been taught etiquette and protocol." she replied carefully, nervous that with such a bold assertion she could upset the professor further.

"Well, let's go see where they are in their lesson." Professor Savoy was surprised by her willingness, but wanted to encourage her if she was willingly striking out to do something.

She approached slowly, returning the casual wave Austin gave her from his study group with a restrained nod. Professor Savoy choked back a grin. The child acted in such a formal, restrained way. If the practiced ease in which she did so didn't speak to the amount of time she had that behavior drilled into her, it would have been almost comical. Mr. Abernathy was still speaking, and she stopped, just within two paces of the table, and waited, head slightly bowed, hands clasped gently in front of her, arms relaxed. Almost, but not quiet in a subservient position, the Professor noted. Professor Savoy didn't know what to make of the posture, but was curious what had caused the Prefect's ire and used the opportunity to just observe.

"…and what you say at the table, everything you do, could affect every interaction you have with your peers for years. Think before you speak!" the prefect instructed forcefully. "Professor." the prefect said, turning to acknowledge him.

"Wise words, Mr. Abernathy." he stated mildly, one eyebrow heading skyward. The prefect eyes narrowed, but he did not offer a reply.

"Ms. Kearns is just released from the infirmary." he said, gesturing toward the small girl who had yet to move or raise her head. "Perhaps she should just observe for the remainder of your lesson?" suggested the Professor.

"Ms. Kearns, have you had any training at all?" he replied exasperatedly. "I just gave revisions back to the group on their essays, and I have to say they have much to learn. Getting you caught up as well may be close to impossible."

"Mr. Abernathy, I have been trained." She replied quietly, not looking up.

"So, this will be a good review, then. Very well, we will start with seating assignments. This is a dinner. Where do we shift?"

She looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time. "Sir? For whom?"

He rolled his eyes. "For you, of course. See anyone else showing up for 'dinner?'"

Her brows knitted in confusion. "I am not sure I understand. You have invited me to dinner, why?"

Both of Justin's eyebrows went skyward. "Why do you think you would be here?" he said, surprise taking some of the edge out of his sarcasm.

She broke her gaze from the prefect, and looked down again. "I can't think of a reason." she replied quietly. She felt irritation and anger from the prefect, and surprise, she wasn't sure, there were so many emotions flowing around. She felt like shrinking away, but this was what the Professor wanted her to do, or so she thought. She tried to stand firm.

"Well, you really couldn't know, as we have just met. It's my birthday, and I am turning 17. You are a school friend." he supplied, turning to the rest of the group. "Ms. Kearns knows what some of you missed in your essays. Why you are showing up is every bit as important as the when and how. Without the reason for her to enter an engagement, she can't gauge her actions. If you missed that in your essay, I expect it added before tomorrow."

"Abernathy? Sir, are you the heir to Lord Artude Abernathy?" she asked, meeting his gaze through her lashes.

"Yes. Good! You obviously have studied the bloodlines! And she addressed me as 'sir' because she didn't know her standing in the situation. Very important."

Professor Savoy did not like where this was going. What was this blustering fool hoping to prove?

"Mr. Abernathy, you would not have invited me. I am not an heir or heir apparent, our families are not aligned, and I don't know you personally." she replied carefully.

"Good! See, she thinks through all the variables, and continues to use proper respect."

"Jena, what if you were a friend, what then?" replied Professor Savoy quietly.

"I would have chosen not to come. He would be weakened befriending me; I would not put a friend in that position." she said unsure. She had never had a friend. She hoped this was the right thing to do.

"Weakened?" the Prefect asked, surprised.

"I am a servant. I know I am not when I am here at Hogwarts, but I am marked, and I am to serve." she replied quietly. The Professor cringed inwardly at these words. He should have suspected that the child knew of her place within 'society' and would share it with no concern. He had not anticipated this. How would he salvage the relationships if they all thought she was less than they were socially?

"You do not ask servants to share your table in an affair of position, and you certainly don't overstep yourself to the detriment of those you serve. I would refuse a seat." she replied, nervously shooting a look at the Professor, sensing his ire.

"You most definitely are not a servant, Jena. You are free, and pureblood, not that the latter matters." replied the Professor sternly.

"Yes sir," she answered timidly, but confusion in her eyes, "but I thought I had to work still. Doesn't' that mean I serve someone, Hogwarts or you...?'

Now it was the professor's turn to be confused. "That is one way of looking at it. But another is that you yourself merited consideration, and this is a way to help with the financial costs." he answered lightly.

"So we have a student with the past of acting as a servant." intoned the Professor, gaze growing stern as he met the eyes of each of the first years, before having his gaze fall forcibly on the Prefect. "She understood her old role, but needs help assimilating her new role. I am sure I will have your help with that, Mr. Abernathy?" he said; calm cold politeness underlying the implied warning in a way that succeeded far more than a harsh tone might have.

"Ms. Kearns, you are my guest, and no servant. Where do you sit?" he asked, waving at the table, but his eyes never left the professors. Long seconds ticked by and the tension started to build.

"Why am I late?" she blurted suddenly, nervous glance bouncing between the Prefect and the Professor. "I wouldn't arrive late. Not for something like this, it's unthinkable." she stated nervously.

"You are late because my mother asked you to pick up a gift for her, and it couldn't be avoided." he supplied easily, with a smirk.

"Then where is she? She would certainly not turn me loose into the room?" the girl replied, still confused.

"Indeed, she would not Ms. Kearns, as that would be most rude. And my mother is never rude. She has indicated you take the seat next to hers."

"Ms. Nott is in that seat, I would sit to the left, then, because you wouldn't ever sit somewhere the host or hostess asked you to. You can refuse a seat or accept a seat, but not a different seat." she said with more certainty than she had said anything else so far. Professor Savoy was shocked, but Justin broke out into a smug smile.

"Well, one of you certainly does know your place. Make room, and let's finish the last topic before breakfast."

"Mr. Abernathy, please don't forget that we are meeting tomorrow at 5pm." Stated Professor Savoy, schooling the surprise out of his voice. First, the child charms Phineas Nigel. Now, she seems to have managed to get on with the most arrogant 7th year he had ever met. He watched as Jena took the seat of the right of the hostess. The lowest ranking seat at the table, often reserved for the host's mother in law he thought, somewhat saddened by the act. He just barely contained himself from shaking his head.

"Ms. Kearns, I will collect you after breakfast. Please return to the common room after the meal."

"Yes sir." she said glancing up but quickly finding the hands in her lap. He noticed no one moved to give her a quill or parchment for notes. Hopefully, Mr. Murphy had been hard at work as well, then, preparing the way for her with her peers. He caught his 5th year's eye who gave him a subtle nod and a smile. Relief flooded him. While he knew there was going to be nothing easy with the child, it would appear that they had made it through the first hurdle, mostly unscathed. Perhaps he was sensing this situation to be more problematic than it really was. He hoped for once he was wrong. The child had enough grief in her short life.


	14. Chapter 14 Empathy & Mum

Disclaimer: As one of my favorite fan fic authors said "Is Severus Snape still dead? Well then I obviously don't own Harry Potter." And I am certainly no richer today. On with the story…

Chapter 14:

Austin rushed to the first years as soon as his study group broke. He had seen Jena come in, and had tried to watch the interaction with the group and the professor from across the room. She had seemed as unsure and frightened as that first damn day at dinner. And that absolute git Abernathy had better not be mistreating her already, the 5ht year prefect fumed silently. He has spent a little time each day over the past week with her in the hospital wing, talking, joking, explaining what the school was like, what she might be studying and any manner of things. He was so nervous that she would be targeted or outcast by the others. Something solid built up tension in his stomach, worry yes, but protectiveness, an instinct too. He would not let anyone push the girl around.

"Abernathy." he greeted the older prefect somewhat coldly as he studied the girl who stood up last from the table, looking somewhat fretfully around her.

"Murphy." he replied neutrally, studying the prefect. "Heard you are mentoring Kearns. She's polite." he replied in a tone that said this was merely an observation, not a compliment of any kind.

"Aye. Hello Jena." he greeted her, voice more gentle, but still reserved in the presence of the older boy.

"Good morning Austin." she replied, meeting his gaze briefly before looking down again.

"Ready for your first trip to the Great Hall for breakfast?" he asked placing a hand slowly on her shoulder to guide her away from the table.

"She'll have no trouble with us. She knows her place." Abernathy said, suddenly, causing Austin's head to snap up and eyes narrow suspiciously at the older prefect. He did not understand the boy's words, exactly. Did the 'us' refer to the older purebloods? Or the followers of the dark lord? What did he think Jena's 'place' was?

"You're right. She won't have any trouble." He replied in response, letting the tone of his voice carry his warning as he guided the girl toward the portrait hole. He noticed that the two first year boys, Eric and Martin, scurried along after them, clearly favoring removing themselves from Abernathy's presence as quickly as possible.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Jena didn't say much, as was usual, and she was watchful of the two boys that settled across from them, obviously listening to their conversation closely, although not joining.

"Ms. Kearns, you need to eat more." he chided gently, passing her the plate of eggs. She looked around at the others plates and the remaining dish, and the food remaining on her dish. He continued to hold the plate, but this was getting irritating.

"Jena, take some more." He suggested, a bit more firmly when the girl made no move to do so. She met his eyes, with the piecing, searching gaze that she had sometimes that he found so unsettling.

"I don't think I can finish what I have." she finally replied, noting he had not returned the dish.

"She eats like a bird." said Martin, shaking her head. Jena just shrugged, and enjoyed the meal the best she could as the emotions swirled around her. She felt the boys' enthusiasm for the weekend, and the quidditch game they were chatting about, she felt concern and irritation from Austin which wasn't unusual, as well as something else, quiet and small, that she couldn't quite name, but it felt warm and inviting, but it was frightening in its unusualness. Morganna was to Eric's right, and chatting amicably with Misha and Organza; from the trio, she sensed mostly boredom, which worried her. Bored bullies were dangerous bullies, she thought, thinking she should do what she could to keep her distance.

Professor Savoy observed his snakes from the cover of the meal and conversation at the head table. He saw that Jena was well protected, and somewhat fearful. He watched her slow but unobvious observation of the trio of first year girls, and they way she unconsciously leaned toward the protection of her mentor and stifled a snort. The Murphy boy was looking to be a fine young man; he would have to make certain that he kept him under his wing. He watched as Abernathy lorded over the end of the table closest to the Teacher's table where most of the seventh years congregated. He wasn't positive if his arrogance was being mitigated by his detentions and subsequent exposure to others of lower status and younger years, or if the young man was simply hiding his atrocious behavior from his head of house and hence trying to duck his wrath, but he would be vigilant, and continue to monitor the boy. The professor looked on approvingly as Mr. Murphy tried to force more food on the small child, even though she didn't take any more, it was a significant improvement and one he was grateful for. Finishing his own meal, he murmured his farewells to his colleagues and moved toward the students to collect Jena for their shopping.

"Ms. Kearns, have you side-alonged before?" he asked, collecting her from Austin with a brief nod.

"Yes, Professor."

"Then come along." he turned from the child and led the way down the stairs out the main gates to the apparition point. She had just kept up with his long strides, but didn't complain at all. He held his forearm to her and she stepped a bit closer and grasped it tentatively.

"Hold tightly, Jena." he gently admonished before apparating them both to Diagon Alley. He noted that the child didn't look ill, nor did she stumble on landing, but looked around quickly, assessing her surroundings.

"Have you been to Daigon alley before, Ms. Kearns?" he enquired politely, as he indicated that she should precede him from the alcove he had chosen. She stepped quickly out to the walkway.

"No sir."

"Please stay close to me, then." he observed her out of his peripheral vision as he planned out there stops. The child needed clothing, and upon his inspection the clothing stipend for poor children was pitiful; it would be difficult to get her everything she needed on so little. There was a second hand store; they would purchase what they could that was decent there first. Her books were not a problem as he knew the exact cost, and again those would be mostly second hand, and he could get her by in potions. She needed toiletries, or he needed the ingredients to make her shampoo and soap, and she needed a wand and school supplies. Mentally, figuring out how many packages they would end up with and in what order, he placed a hand in the middle of the child's back, and gently guided her toward the second hand shops.

The child looked around nervously, but curiosity was clear in her gaze as well. She was nervous. She could sense the Professor's distraction and concentration, but he wasn't annoyed with her at least. Perhaps if she tried very hard, they could get through today without that happening.

They entered the clothing store, and he watched as the child stepped to the side and allowed him to lead her into the store. She however, made no move toward the clothing, nor did she start browsing. Really she did little more than assess her surroundings, and study the clerks in the store.

"Do you know your size?" he inquired. She met his gaze; he noticed that she fixed him with the evaluating piercing gaze.

"No sir. I have never shopped for clothing in a store before." she replied quietly. He stifled an exasperated sigh. No, of course not, that would be too simple, wouldn't it? He was irritated with himself, but tried to reign in his emotions, when he suddenly saw the child turn her face away and her shoulders flinch. Was he doing that poor of a job controlling his emotions?

"Jena, what is it?" he asked her.

"I am sorry sir."

"Whatever for child?"

"Sir?"

"Why are you apologizing, you have done nothing wrong?" he said.

"You are irritated. I… well, there is something I have or haven't done. If you let me know sir, I can do better."

"Jena, how do you know I am irritated? And if I am, how do you know it is your fault?"

"Sir?" the child replied questioningly, confusion clearly written on her face. "No one else is here except for me for you to be irritated with, and you are the only one here who is, so it must be something that I have done…" he watched as the child trailed off and began to tremble.

"Wait, you say no one here is irritated. How do you know if that's true? There are 2 clerks and," he replied as his eyes searched the store "three customers. How do you know that none of them are irritated?"

"Well, they aren't here with me." she replied, like that was on obvious answer, one the Professor surely had known already, but was said in such a way that he realized that she was fearful of implying exactly that.

"I see. Jena, you had me worried for a moment, I thought maybe you could tell how I really felt, not just assumed I was irritated because I happened to be in your company. Nothing could be further from the truth." he let some amusement slip in with his relief in the tone.

"You were irritated?" she said confusedly, "but now you are relieved and happy?" she replied, confusion still clear. "Or are you saying you weren't irritated at all, sir?"

He watched her carefully. The child was confused in a fundamental way, and not confused in another. His stomach plummeted. Dear Merlin, the child knew exactly how he felt.

Keeping his face carefully neutral, he couldn't help but ask the obvious.

"And how do I feel now?" he asked.

"Not scared exactly, but, wary I guess, and fretful sort of, sir? I am not sure how to describe it."

"I think the word you are searching for is apprehensive. The clerk, over there, how does she feel?" he asked indicating a witch about 20 feet from him.

"Sir, why do you ask, you know how she feels…" she said, brows knitting in confusion again. He noticed that she was still trembling lightly.

"I want to see what your perception is." he replied.

"She is bored, and tired, and would really rather that we left, I think." Jena replied. Yes, apprehension was definitely the right word, he thought to himself, but now more so for the child's state than his own. An empath. Well, they were rare, certainly but not unheard of, surely.

"So, you believe that I can tell what they are feeling, too?" he asked, curious at what she thought of this skill.

She suddenly looked up with that piercing glance and away.

"No. No you do not, I guess, sir." she replied quickly looking away, and still looking confused, and bordering on consternated.

"You guess, or you know, Jena? Jena, look at me and answer me." he said firmly.

Her gaze met his gain, but with uncertainly.

"I know, sir."

He let out a long slow breath.

"Jena, do you know what an empath is?" he asked on a hunch. He hoped he was wrong.

"No sir."

He sighed. "No, of course not. Jena, you are an empath. You know what the people around you are feeling, sensing it like most people would sense noise, or light. You just have an extra level of perception." Interesting, and frightening, that, Professor Savoy thought to himself.

"However, most people don't have that perception. So, while I know you are afraid or perhaps apprehensive is more the word right now, and fearful that my irritation is with you, I am telling that because you are trembling and keep looking down at your feet – I am guessing based on your body language."

He did not suppress his smirk when the child's eyes flew up to his gaze, widened in shock. "I am very good at guessing Jena; don't be so surprised if I am correct. Is there ever a time you are wrong?" he asked, genuinely curious, and trying to put aside the feeling of being exposed by the youngster's ability.

"Well, no, not wrong exactly," she said, brows knit in concentration, as she struggled for words, "but, like, well…. when there are a lot of people, sometimes I can't tell where they are coming from."

"Like noise in a loud room?" he suggested.

The child nodded her head.

"We will speak more of this later, but it is nothing to be concerned about, but it does explain a great deal. So in answer to your original question," replied the Professor, thinking at least until the near term, he would try to simply be honest and direct when she was fearful of his emotions, and try to put her at ease. "Yes I was, irritated, but you, yourself were not the cause. I was irritated at myself for not thinking that this might be a difficult task for you. And I was apprehensive because I don't always want people to know what I am feeling."

"I am sorry sir."

"So you said, but again, there is nothing to apologize for as there is nothing you can do about it, nor is there anything you should do about it. Now, let's get to our business, shall we?" he said, waving the child toward the nearest rack.

She looked at him, but the trembling increased, and the child looked like she was about to panic. He slowly stepped forward, as not to startle or frighten the child further, placed his hand on her shoulder in attempt to comfort her. The trembling lessened significantly.

"Or, we can end the sales person's boredom." he said, steeling his resolve for a long process.

In the end, however, it went more smoothly than he could manage. Not having actually picked anything for herself, and owning so little of value, when he consulted her, she simply gave him that piercing glare again, and bit her lip, and unerringly chose the one he thought best, anyway. He realized that empathic talent was a form of mind magic… the child was likely a natural occulemens/legilments too. Well, it certainly made those awkward arguments with children over appropriate choices nonexistent. She had no opinion on her school supplies, and had said nothing of the primary school primers he had purchased as well.

It was late afternoon, and he could tell the child was fading. Her steps were shorter, and her glances more nervous and quick. The child was likely hungry, and having recently recovered from severe injuries, likely giving into fatigue at this point, too. He realized, however that the child might not complain of any discomfort.

"Would you prefer a late lunch or early tea, Jena?" he asked, watching as she was staring off down the street at something nervously.

"Jena?"

"I am so-sorry, sir." she stuttered, obviously unsettled.

"What were you looking at?"

"I knew that man, I think, sir." she replied. He noticed she was trembling again. Not a good sign.

"And did he frighten you, when you knew him before?" he asked, unconsciously coming closer to the child, placing himself in the path between her and the wizard that had her spooked.

"No sir. He was just not kind."

"Late lunch, I think, Jenna," he informed her, watching her carefully, and he held out his hand to her.

She looked at it surprise, and then with suspicion.

"Sir?"

Hi simply waited, arm extended, as she slipped her hand in his. He discovered it was cold, and a bit clammy.

"Jena, your hands are freezing. Do you feel well?" he replied, worry edging his voice.

"Yes, sir." She replied confused.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"It's not so bad, sir." He looked at her searching, and removed one of the shrunken packages from his pocket. Returning it to full size, he rummaged out and gave her the cloak he had purchased for her. It was second hand, but of good quality, but not heavy enough for the entire winter. He hadn't been able to afford everything the girl actually needed since her scholarship funds didn't cover her personal items, but the light cloak would do until something more suitable could be found for the colder winter at Hogwarts.

She seemed nervous about everything, including the cloak, but followed his instructions without question. He managed to get her to a café, and realizing he was tired too, didn't bother to try to get her to choose something, rather just ordering a portion of the most nutritious item on the menu for the child. He squashed down more irritation. It was not the child's fault that she didn't know how to tell him what she needed or wanted, and it wasn't her fault that skipping a meal wasn't an option for her either.

"Ms. Kearns, the last item is a wand, and I will explain that process." he started to explain.

"But sir, I have a wand."

His eyebrows were lost in his hair line in surprise.

"You do? Where did you get it? And may I see it?"

She gingerly pulled it from somewhere under her cloak.

"It came to me the day my mum died. It was her wand. I was told it was my inheritance." she replied quietly.

He had heard of such things in pure blood lines, where wands of great prestige or power were passed down from one generation to the next. The Elderwand that helped to defeat the Dark Lord was such a wand. He gingerly took the wand from the child, and felt a burn in his arm. The Dark Lord himself had used this wand. He almost dropped it; it felt so unclean and dark magic flowed around it.

"Walnut, stained black, and dragon heart string core, if I am not mistaken," he murmured to himself. The wand was not straight, but hooked just a bit, much like the talon of a bird.

He realized that she was studying him with a concerned yet wary expression.

"The wand was used by a Deatheater, Jena," he explained, realizing his honesty of absolute truth had worked wonders for the girl through the day. "I have a bit of sixth sense too, and can sense the dark magic. I would ask that you not share that little fact with anyone, however. The wand looks familiar too, which makes me suspect at some point I met your mother."

"Do you know who she is?" the child asked nearly breathlessly.

He watched her carefully, ruing that it was the child and not himself that was the empath.

"I know that I have seen it, but I don't recall what which wielded it." He replied, "It is out of context."

The child's eyes sought her hands in her lap, and whether it was disappointment or some other emotion he wasn't quite sure.

"Jena, if the wand suits you, which is all we need. Have you attempted any spells?"

"No sir."

"Well, you will soon enough." He thought of and quickly discarded the idea of taking the child to Ollivanders and seeing if it was one of his creations, since he never forgot a wand, nor it it's wielder. But some answers were best left for only those who could deal with the answer, and the DADA professor had the gut feeling that this was the case in this situation. He was sure the answer would come to him.

End o' Chapter!

(Readers, you thought you I would reveal her mum, didn't you? The first person who figures out who mum is gets a drabble. Risi, who won the first drabble up for grabs, has given me paramaters, and that story will be posting by the weekend. Contest drabbles are any 2 characters, any genre, any rating and any prompt, 10K words, delivered within 1 week - let's see who figures it out first!)


	15. Chapter 15 Halloween

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money made. Never going to take advantage of Ms. Rowling. Yeah, yeah yeah. Sorry this is 1 day late – but I posted my first drabble that I put up for reviews – check it out!

On with the story….

Professor Savoy sat in his office, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in his left hand that he was gently swirling so that the light from the fire in his small office reflected through both the liquid and the glass. Sunday night, the beginning of the second week of classes and he was exhausted. All day Saturday had been spent with Jena – getting her equipped and settled, and Sunday had been spent supervising the other Slytherins as well as making sure that Jena had been introduced to all her extra tutors and understood her somewhat complicated schedule.

He had been uncomfortable in the girl's presence since learning about her little extra skill. There was no room this year to teach her occulmency or legilmency, so she couldn't help but know what those around her were feeling. She often had little reference for the origin of those feelings, and it was obvious from her assumptions that her deplorable upbringing made her assume the worst about herself and the reason for negative emotions around her. Merlin only knew when they would be able to address that. And then there was the ministry intervention… they had not come to interview him, or the child or Madam Pomfrey. Truly, he had done everything he could do for the girl for now. She had food, clothes and a chance at a real education. It was time to get on to the job at hand.

Jena woke at 5 am. This was the same time she has risen when living with her father, and serving the Dark Lord. This was a constant in her life, after all, and she was worthless, and if she could get more work in, well, then maybe good things would continue to happen to her. She was safe, she thought happily, and she wasn't hungry. She'd been pushed around by a couple of students a time or two, but no big bruises or injuries. She had been well, mostly, although she hadn't managed to gain much weight as Madame Pomfrey had asked her to, she thought as she quickly undressed for the shower. She was cold, and the warm water felt wonderful on her skin, but she knew she couldn't afford to linger. She was often cold, and sometimes couldn't sleep at night due to this and had trouble securing study spaces sufficiently close to fire to warm up but she wasn't about to mention anything so trivial. She spent less than 20 minutes preparing herself for the day and straightening the bed, being sure to be as quiet as possible as not to disturb her dorm mates, and went right to her studies. Such had been her life for her first two months at Hogwarts. Wake at 5, study, tutoring lessons at 6 and 7 am, a brief breakfast, classes all day, with 15 minutes for lunch as the other 30 minutes was spent in another tutoring; afternoon classes, more studying, study groups, a brief dinner, more tutoring and then study. She had been told to be in bed by 10pm at the latest, but had not been able to do that once.

The book learning was coming very fast she reflected idly while copying the graceful sweeps and curves of the letters in her penmanship book. What frustrated her was that the magic was not. Luckily, she woke at 5 am, because the very simple spell that most of her dorm mates knew to get their wand to act like an alarm clock was beyond her as of yet. If she focused very hard, she could cast a tempus and tell the time, but she didn't have that spell down reliably yet. She had gotten a feather to float, but nothing any heavier. She had transfigured nothing. Everyone had told her to be patient, that it would come in time, but the pitying looks on top of the attitude she got because she didn't know her maths or reading cut her to the quick. She often thought of her problems from 5 to 6 am as that most often was penmanship, or spelling or some other fairly mindless lesson. She was grateful to be here; she had been picked on by a few Gryffindor since she was so small, and many knew that she was tutored. She had received cat calls of "troll" and "retard", but had simply ignored them. It was worth it to be getting such an education. At 6, she was to meet with Organza.

Organza was a bully, true. But things had been a little better after the first few days. Organza had noted her second hand clothing was not of a quality to be of much use, but Jena was happy with it. She had her own cloak and robes, and took meticulous care of them. Organza had been scandalized that Jena only could read a few words. While everything was coached in how much Jena should have already known, and what a sacrifice it was to wake up early three days a week to tutor, Organza at least had never actually missed, or put her off. Reading was the thing that she did best now, and she was very grateful to Organza. She has asked during her etiquette lessons what one could do to show gratitude and Abernathy had prattled on about gifts. Jena sighed; she had no way to give anyone anything. While she was perfectly content with all that had been done for her and very grateful to everyone, she still had nothing that anyone else would value. She hoped something would occur to her.

Her reverie was broken from her writing practice as the object of her reflection moved toward her morning ablutions. It was nearing 6am then. She noticed Misha grumble. While not as much of a bully as Organza, the girl had studiously ignored her, and done the very least amount of tutoring. Misha's emotions were of having to suffer something very unpleasant to spend anytime with Jena, and Jena could barely stand it. At least Organza felt a sense of accomplishment, of being better than someone else. Jena was glad it made her feel better. She got her reading work together, and stopped letting her thoughts be idle. She was relieved she was so busy. She didn't have to think about how she didn't deserve any of this, that she was useless, or how worthless she was. She didn't have to think about the nightmares that made waking up a 5 am each day without an alarm a given, and she didn't have to worry about what would happen next. Would she go back home to her father?

"Well, Jena, I am glad to see your writing is improving, because that means your reading will improve too. Now, let's see your potion book, and try to get through all the words in the chapter. Surely if you are in Slytherin, you will have to excel at potions. Two of the greatest potion masters of the century were Slytherins. Not that anyone like you would get a Mastery, mind you, but we don't need you being even a bigger embarrassment to the house." huffed Organza. Jena pulled out her potion book. She felt mild irritation from Organza, and a sense of purpose form the girl, and some pride. She was proud of the work she had done for Jena, and sometimes, she was proud of what Jena could do. The words were all the same; Jena knew she would never amount to much. But the pride was addicting. Jena worked harder for Organza than just about anyone.

Jena moved through her day as usual: rushing from one task to the next. She sighed, it was particularly stressful day, because November 1st was supposed to be the day that she tested on her non-Hogwarts curriculum – anything that she did well enough on she could quit then start her work. And today was the day before, which would explain the extravagant decorations going up, she thought. Semain. She had never celebrated it, so continued to eat all she could manage politely in her brief lunch. She was very, very anxious to start working, and she could do that if she could simply pass enough tests. Although in her weekly meetings with Professor Savoy he had told her that she could take as long as she needed to catch up with her classmates, she was very fearful that she wouldn't get far enough along, especially with her magic so weak, and she would be told to leave. In fact, the nightmares this induced had far supplanted the nightmares of angry masters and the red snake slitted eyes of the Dark Lord.

Jena rushed after classes back to the common room. This was the brightest spot Jena's week; something she looked forward to more than anything else: Austin. Austin had been assigned as her mentor, and he had been very kind. Not only had he helped her when she was sick in the hospital, but each week he met with her and she could save up all the questions that she didn't know who to ask, or had been ridiculed about, and he answered them. He never sneered or ridiculed her. He was happy to see her often which had never happened to her before. She had been frightened in her first week by a 7th year Ravenclaw that she recognized from when she served the Dark Lord, and had run away and hid. It was Austin that had found her in the closet, and had helped her get to the professor's office, and helped her be able to explain. She hadn't told them why she was afraid of the Ravenclaw, but they had kept him away from her none the less. Jena figured the Ravenclaw knew that she hadn't told the professors anything, because he had not sought her out, either. But today was Friday, and Austin had an open hour at 3:30, so she got to spend some time with him. She didn't want to be late.

Austin was very glad it was Friday, and Halloween. Classes ended at 2pm for many to give the students an extra break, and the Halloween feast was one of the biggest highlights of the year. It had been ages since it fell on a Friday too, and the stories of parties were legendary. And, about a week ago, he had managed to make the acquaintance of one very lovely Matilda Bagley, whose jet black hair and sparkling blue green eyes were very beautiful. She had agreed to be his 'date' to the unofficial 'dance' that the students were planning after the feast in the common room. It has been a long two months and with exams right around the corner, it was just the break he needed. Heading into the common room, he saw Matilda sitting close to the hearth and went over to get settled in close by.

"You look lovely, Matilda." he murmured quietly in way of greeting. "Care if I join you?" he asked, and was rewarded by a nod and her charming, dimpled smile. He felt something in his stomach melt.

"Aren't you sweet? All done for today?" she replied. "I can't wait for tonight, it's been ages since I have been dancing."

"Yes, they let out the 5th years early for a bit of break. It's nice, but I warn you, I may not be the greatest dancer." He replied.

"You can make it up to me." she replied cheekily.

"Oh and how's that?"

"I can use some help on my DADA essay." she replied. Laughing, they go their books out.

Jena rushed up to the portrait, slowing in time to approach it with some decorum, and avoid the chastisement of the portrait's guardian.

"Good afternoon Lord Nigel, I hope you are well?" she inquired formally.

"Ms. Kearns, a pleasure, and perfectly fine, I assure you." He replied just as formally. She gave the former headmaster one of her rare smiles; the portrait was always kind to her, and never failed to greet her. It was such a small thing to come to a place, and have someone, even if it was just a portrait, happy to see you. Jena could feel no emotions from the portraits, either, but could watch them and guess. He always smiled, and seemed to have a different expression for her than for others.

"And I hope your day was pleasant, even if you must always dart about so." he sniffed. He didn't like how much she had to dash about to get to everything; but she had no choice. Hopefully it would get better with her exams tomorrow.

"Burdock root" she said quietly, and the door opened. She scanned the room quickly, and finding Austin, started to make her way over.

"Hey, munchkin, learn how to spell your name yet?" came a cat call from the left, but Jena didn't' look. While many people said mean things here, none actually harmed her. Likely the 7th years at her again. She ignored them, as always.

"That's right; it's the only thing you can spell, because it's blank!" Laughter reached her ears, and she ignored that, too.

Austin had his back to the common room entrance, but was sitting with a girl she had seen him with a few times, but wasn't sure about her name. She thought it was Matilda. She had a sweet, heart shaped face and sparkling bright eyes, and her hair was always so shiny. Jena approached shyly, not wanting to intrude abruptly.

Austin watched as a strange expression came over Matilda's face. "Oh, don't look now, but your shadow just arrived." she muttered.

"What is that Maddie?" he asked turning around distractedly. Oh, Jena. Did Jena really think they would have their weekly session on Halloween, and right when he was getting on so well with Matilda?" he sighed. He cared for the small girl, truly, but being her mentor was a lot of work.

"Hi Jena, come on over." Austin invited, but his smile didn't reach his eyes, Jena noted.

"You might think it's enthralling to hang out with 11 year olds, but I don't find it very interesting." Matilda said just above a whisper, narrowing her eyes at Austin.

Jena heard Matilda, but didn't think anything of it. Many people thought she was a nuisance. That was nothing new.

"Don't worry. I am simply telling her it's Halloween and she has the evening off. She isn't going to tag along or pester us." he replied quietly enough so that Jena didn't hear. After all, he may not want to see her tonight but it didn't mean that he wanted to hurt her feelings.

Jena was confused. Austin definitely wasn't happy to see her, and didn't' he remember that her tests were tomorrow? Surely, he would stay and help her, or at least answer some questions? She had heard his last comment, but knew from his emotions that he likely hadn't wanted her to hear. She continued to approach the pair, but apprehension built in every step. She was proud of herself that she was able to keep her voice from shaking as she spoke to them.

"Hello Austin, Matilda. I am here for my mentoring session." she said quietly.

"Jena, you work too hard. It's Semain, and the biggest celebration of the year. Take some time off, relax, you could use the rest."

She glanced over to the girl who was smirking. She had been told repeatedly that if something was important, and she needed help, that it was her responsibility to ask. That both Professor Savoy and Austin would be disappointed in her if she didn't ask, which troubled her to no end. But Austin's feelings, he felt pestered really, irritated with her presence and pitying even. And impatient. Austin was never impatient. She glanced at Matilda. She felt smugness, and irritation, and loathing of a sort. The girl couldn't stand her. She could also sense the warm feelings, attraction likely between the two. What should she do? Both Professor Savoy had told her that the hardest thing she would have to learn is to trust. She needed to do well on those test.

"Austin, I have a few questions before my tests tomorrow. Do you think we can just go over those maybe? I really need to do well." she asked shyly.

"Look Jena, everyone knows you didn't get out much before you got here, but older kids have more to do than babysit you when you need every little thing answered. Austin's too nice to tell you to get lost, and if you don't know something for your tests by now, an hour of his time isn't going to make much difference. You have to learn sometime, just because someone is nice to you doesn't mean they want to spend every waking hour with you. Stop being a hanger-on and get some rest. You look like you could drop any moment." Matilda stated, not unkindly. While her tone was not deliberately cruel, the words cut Jena to the quick. She could feel Matilda's loathing, the fact she really didn't want to be in Jena's presence. She felt embarrassment from the prefect, and relief; and a bit of anger, apprehension. But nothing to indicate that Matilda's words weren't true.

Jena's eyes burned, but she quickly took a breath. She had learned long ago that showing emotional pain was every bit as dangerous as showing physical pain, although she didn't have the words to articulate it. She blinked quickly for just a moment, and gave Austin a quick glance, before dropping her gaze to her feet.

Damn, Austin thought. Jena wasn't a hanger-on; she oftentimes sat nearby him in the common room, but he often thought that had more to do with his general proximity to the hearth and the fact he sometimes saw her shivering, especially as the girl never interrupted him when he was talking to his friends. She might ask a brief question if he was alone, but it was always in the most timid of approaches. She really did spend all her time working, and not really bothering him. But what Matilda said did have some merit. Jena did need to learn to answer some questions on her own, and she certainly should learn that most older students would not be kind to her. And how to ease the criticism that Matilda had offered without offending the witch? He could tell by Jena's stance she was uncomfortable.

"Oh. I guess I will just get to studying then." Jena knew it was a lame reply, but she couldn't think of a graceful or polite thing to say. She didn't want to thank the girl for her advice; it had hurt. But it was likely true, she thought resignedly. Well, she was supposed to meet with Austin weekly, and she would have to get permission from Professor Savoy not to. Her breath hitched in her throat at the thought, but she shoved it away, in the small corner of her mind were her nightmares and her doubts about living with her father were crammed. "I will check and see if you have time for me next week, sorry to have bothered you, Austin." she finally replied quietly after much consideration with a brief nod where she didn't quite make eye contact with either one and quickly turned to leave the common room. She didn't think she could stand to be where she could feel them for very much longer.

"Jena," he called, to her trying to call her back, "it's ok, and you weren't being a nuisance. I think we just both could use a break." he called when she paused, and briefly glanced back. She gave a nod, but then quickly strode to the door.

"It's ok Austin; it might hurt her feelings a bit, but she has to learn." Matilda said firmly.

"Maddie, she really is a sweet kid and not much of a nuisance at all. It's just that it's Halloween, and I am beat." he sighed, weighing the option of seeking the small girl out to make sure she wasn't upset.

"I see the way she always sits near where you are sitting, and keep tracks of where ever you are in the room. Her whole face lights up each time she sees you, it's a crush Austin. You shouldn't encourage her."

"Oh, I don't think that's it at all." he said, laughing. "She just hadn't had much in the way of positive attention, and could use some with people she can come to trust."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, lover boy." Matilda teased. "But if you're still worried about my having offended her, find out, and if she is still upset, maybe I'll apologize in the morning if that will make it easier on you."

"Thanks Maddie, I will check in with her. You really don't have anything to be sorry about, but she is really skittish. I want her to feel safe talking to me." Really, what Matilda said wasn't that harsh. He would find Jena in the morning and explain; that Matilda was willing to apologize would sooth anything that got rumpled too allowed him to forget about it for now.

"You are really that sweet, aren't you?" Matilda asked rhetorically, shaking her head, as the duo returned to their studies.

Jena exited quickly, and did not take the time to say anything in parting to the portrait. She felt vulnerable and exposed. She quickly went down the corridors leading to the offices of her head of house, not because she was consciously seeking him out, but rather she had spend so much time in her studies, she still got lost form time to time as she had no time for exploring. She reached a small alcove and quickly ducked in, closed her eyes and tried to get her pounding heart and whirling emotions under control. Why had she trusted him? Why hadn't she been able to sense that he was tired of her or just humoring her? Her cheeks burned in shame. Austin hadn't wanted her around, but was too nice to tell her. That meant that he cared about everyone just as he cared about her, or rather, that he cared about everyone else more, since he wanted to be around them, right? She couldn't believe how much this hurt. Austin was her only friend. She shook her head angrily. No, Austin was not her friend. That is where she made the mistake. People like her didn't have friends. She sighed. Well, she had no one else to blame for her folly, it was time to face the consequences.

Jena made her way slowly to the office, and knocked gently on the door. She couldn't remember for the life of her when the last time she had hoped that no one would answer a summons more. She sighed as she heard footsteps on the other side. Luck was not with her tonight.

He had been straightening up, and enjoying the bit of free time he had before the feast. Semain was tough on the teachers: late patrols, sugar high children and frolicking ghosts tend to be a bad combination. He sighed in exasperation as he heard the tentative knock. He strode quickly to the door, hoping to dispatch the interruption as quickly as he could. He opened the door, and saw Ms. Kearns standing nervously, looking at her feet.

"Ms. Kearns. Shouldn't you be in tutoring?" he asked quietly, deciding not to ask the girl in.

"Yes sir. Well, mentoring, but Austin said that I needn't attend tonight." she replied quietly, glancing nervously up at the Professor. Hesitating due to the extreme embarrassment she felt to tell him that she didn't think Austin wanted to see her so much.

"And you think after just two months you know enough not to listen to a mentor?" he chastised gently.

"No sir!" Jena replied in a breathless gasp widening with fear. "I told him I needed to see him; he said we could both use the break sir. I would have stayed if he let me." Truer words were never spoken; it broke her heart to utter them. But a lifetime of having her heart battered made the feeling she was experiencing hard to read.

"You really expect me to believe that you begged to stay and work on Halloween, child?" he stated, the edge of his irritation making its way into his voice. He sighed. No use keeping the sound out of his voice, the child could just sense it anyway he thought sourly. "I will not be lied to, Ms. Kearns. If you are not going to study, I would appreciate you doing me the favor of not disturbing my personal time with that fact." He muttered impatiently.

Jena felt the impatience, the irritation, the incredulity – all there, and all confusing. The Professor was occasionally grumpy, but never had he turned her away so abruptly. She had misjudged Austin, how badly had she misjudged the Professor. Why did she trust them at all? He really thought she was lying? Was she? Should she have demanded to study? Jena's mind whirled in confusion. The fragile walls of happiness that she had painstakingly built around herself tumbled. She didn't know what to say to the man, so she simply nodded her head in acknowledgement and fled.

Professor Savoy watched the child with some mild apprehension. The child was not tearful, but a bit scared. Well, a bit of fear would keep the child on track. He'd see her tomorrow afternoon, and try to get to the bottom of it then.

Jena couldn't remember the last time she had cried. But there were tears in her eyes now. She hadn't told the professor the truth that Austin didn't want to be around her very much anymore, and now she was stuck. What's more, he already thought she was lying; there was no use in trying to get that straightened out. They all knew she lied and stole before. Didn't' that man at the ministry tell her that once she had done those things, no one could every trust her? But what could she do? Jena's thoughts were caught in an endless loop. She wasn't sure where her feet were carrying her, or where she would go next. Her next session wasn't until after dinner, and now she was fairly certain that was canceled too. She simply didn't know what to do next without the help of her schedule.

"A firstie, and a snake!" was the first warning that Jena got as she came around the corner, only to be surrounded by 5 much older boys, all wearing Gryffindor ties. She physically cringed. How could she have been so careless?

"Look at the itty bitty firstie, she looks like a doll!" chortled one. "And where do we put dolls?"

"On the shelf!" squealed the other boys.

Jena's own emotions spiraling, she had a hard time to pin down the emotions spinning out of control for the boys before the ring leader grabbed her. Years of conditioning to being manhandled made her instantaneously submit and relax. He grabbed her up of her feet and threw her over his shoulder. She landed hard, as she was lighter than he guessed, and the wind was knocked out of her. She could not scream. The boys strode quickly down the corridor to a great armoire, and the ringleader shoved her into the arms of another boy.

"Please!" she gasped, "I need to go to the library." Her voice quavered in fear.

"That's original, normally they are pleading for their life about now, not to go the library!" said the boy who was doing something within the freestanding cupboard.

"Quick, before someone sees us! We can hang her up by the cloak in here. Everyone will think its ghost!"

Jena was shoved roughly in, and one of the hands caught into her robes at both shoulders and looped the fabric over the hooks, leaving her feet dangling in the air. Jena was plunged into darkness as the boys slammed the doors shut and cast a silencing spell. No one would hear her. Jena was trapped, and alone.

Cliffie! Oops. I don't' normally do that, do I?


	16. Chapter 16 Into the Darkness

Austin offered his arm to Matilda and helped her off the settee they had been studying on and escorted her to the great hall for dinner. Candles floated overhead, and jack-o'lanterns were charmed with ever changing expressions. He glanced around and noticed that Jena wasn't here yet. Not unusual, she was often late for meals.

Professor Savoy strode into the great room. He took mental stock of his snakes. All were accounted for save one. Jena was late for dinner. Again. He sighed - no matter how much he chastised the child about eating properly and getting enough rest, she just didn't seem to understand the importance of such things. He sighed again. It would be and even longer talk tomorrow after her testing, he supposed.

"Oh look, the musicians just go here!" enthused Matilda, a smile splitting her beautiful face.

"I am surprised that Professor Savoy let us have real musicians in for a private celebration." noted Austin.

"You shouldn't be. He's a pushover." snorted Abernathy, butting in from a couple of people over.

Austin narrowed his eyes as he contemplated the older boy. "And why do you say that?"

"Well, he thinks his little lectures about arrogance and respect means anything; kiss his arse for two minutes and then you 'earn' the right to do what you want." Abernathy slipped an arm around the other 7th year prefect's waist. "Brandelyn likes music, and she gets what she wants."

"Yep, no arrogance there." replied Austin dryly.

"You'd better watch it, Murphy." he snapped. "The Murphy's aren't as powerful as they once were. And I will be out of here and into the ministry two years before you can even think about building your family's reputation again."

"Well, thanks for the lessons in arse kissing then." he replied, clearly allowing a hint of snide into his tone. Giggles where heard up and down the table.

"Well, I for one," said Matilda, giving Austin a severe look, "truly appreciate your generosity. Thank you, Justin, for making a special evening for all of us." Matilda squeezed his knee under the table in a way that clearly meant that she wanted him to quit baiting the older boy. There were a few murmured assents up and down the table at this, as well.

"Why is it the ladies around you put up with you? Matilda is clearly of superior upbringing, and even that little ragamuffin that follows you around shows proper respect." sniffed the Prefect. "Where is the brat, anyway," he said, looking down the table. "We're they short on house elves?" the boy deadpanned. Another set of giggles were heard up and down the table.

"When you have finished buying a girlfriend, friends and a job, why don't you throw in a sense humor too?" Murphy replied flatly, but realized that the feast was quickly drawing to a close, and he hadn't seen Jena yet. Feasts were generally longer than normal dinners too. He craned his neck down the table to make sure he hadn't missed the small girl behind another student.

"Austin!" Matilda hissed quietly, catching his attention. "Apologize this instant. He did something nice for Slytherin, and you are being rude."

"Well, at least I can still afford to buy something, as I my parents didn't have to buy their way out of prison…"

Austin's had whipped his head around toward the older boy, expression indignant.

"Where is the ragamuffin? Just like a 'sister' to you, I supposed." the older boy drawled.

Shit. The prat knew about his parents, he thought urgently, trying not to panic.

"Since when were you worried about Jena?" he asked bitterly, standing quickly. "Isn't it you that insults her every time she comes into the common room, and makes her move if she is studying close to the fire so you can have a chair?"

It was Abernathy's turn to narrow his eyes. "She hasn't once complained about joking around with me, and she always scrambles out of the way. I have never told her to move."

"Have you ever heard her complain about anything, Abernathy?" he sighed dejectedly. Realizing the boy was a prat, but baiting him served no purpose. "Look, thanks for the musicians. Matilda likes to dance too. But Professor Savoy is our head of house and deserves our respect. Don't be disrespectful in front of me." he ordered quietly.

"Oh, and what if I am? After tonight, I don't plan to continue the arse kissing routine. I got what I want." he stated, in a cold calculating way.

"Your funeral. He seems pretty strict. But I won't put up with it either." he said, making a move toward the head table.

"Where do you think you're going?" the older prefect snapped.

"To inform our head of house that one of the firsties is missing."

"Austin, sit down." said Matilda exasperatedly. "Can't we have one evening that isn't completely dominated by an 11 year old?"

"Matilda, it will take two seconds. I have responsibilities; I will be right back." he said grimly, but threw her a reassuring smile.

Austin turned away as Matilda rolled her eyes; but he couldn't help noticing that Brandelyn looked more than vaguely uncomfortable. He almost missed her statement to Abernathy.

"You're head prefect. Did it occur to you to report her missing? You were the one who noticed." she chastised gently. Austin was surprised. The older girl rarely spoke up; it wasn't like her to criticize others.

Professor Savoy was bored; five more minutes and he could retire for the evening. He had a few hours rest coming before his shift of patrolling the halls started. He really could use the break.

"One of your snakes is approaching the table." stated McGonagall quietly, drawing his attention to the approaching student.

Professor Savoy turned, and realized it was Mr. Murphy approaching. He scanned the table again, to see if he could decipher the source of the problem. No Jena. Lovely. He sighed internally. McGonagall had complained about the resources the young charge was eating up; between needing the extra tutoring, and a bevy of health potions, the child was a bit high maintenance. The Headmistress definitely wasn't going to like it if she had gotten herself into trouble.

"Professor, Headmistress." The boy addressed them politely. "I needed to inform you that Jena had not appeared for dinner, and was not in the common room when we left for dinner. She is likely out in the school studying somewhere and lost track of time, but I needed to report it."

"Thank you Austin. Please report to me again if she doesn't report to the dorms by curfew." Professor Savoy said resignedly. The girl had seemed a bit on edge when he spoke to her earlier. Perhaps he should check on her tonight, but he quickly discarded the thought. The girl had been upset; maybe she just needed some space. Tomorrow would be soon enough to see what that had been all about, he decided.

Austin quickly returned to his seat, to see that Matilda was eagerly engaged with Brandelyn on the topic of couples dancing. Abernathy gave him a sour glare, but continued to polish off his dessert. Matilda's enthusiasm for the night's activities was infectious though; her bright blue green eyes sparkling with excitement. Brandelyn's coloring was warmer, with rich brown tresses and chocolately eyes. It was clear that Matilda looked up to the older girl. Austin sighed, realizing this meant socializing with Abernathy. He smiled weakly down at his friends, mostly involved with their own dates, and wish he had joined them instead of asking Matilda. Truly, it was his first official date outside of his parent's home and he was a bit nervous. Maybe that was why Jena had stayed away. Likely her feelings were hurt by their earlier interaction, and perhaps, Austin thought worriedly, she had overheard the comment he made to Matilda, but he also knew kids that age were remarkably resilient. He'd explain it to her in the morning. Likely, it was just too stressful to be the more formal feast when she was upset about earlier.

Jena tried to calm herself. It was dark, but there was nothing her to hurt her. He only danger came from staying in this place, this predicament. She had to get out! But that thought did not help, and her panic grew. Again she drew in several deep breaths, trying to stay calm. Her side hurt. Not badly like when she first got to Hogwarts, but soreness, like when she got punched. Just a bruise, she thought to herself. She took a deep breath, and was able to, so no ribs broken she thought. It was completely dark. She knew the silencing charm would stop her from being heard, but wondered if she kicked or pounded, if someone would be able to hear that? She had struggled in the first few minutes, but all that had done is caused the fabric of the robe that she was hung from to give way, wrapping her arms at the shoulder and armpit tighter and trapping her arms straight out from her sides. The fabric cut tightly in at the shoulder joint, and her hands had started to tingle and then had fallen numb. She could feel the rub of fabric against the skin and it hurt. She didn't want to move her upper body too much. She tried slapping her feet against the back panel. She couldn't quite kick out far enough to make contact with the door she knew to be in front of her. She kicked carefully. The fabric and it's restriction of her movement was beginning to hurt, and she didn't want to make it any worse. Surely someone would notice that she wasn't at dinner and come to find her? She determinedly continued to slap the soles of her feet against the interior of the Armoire.

Matilda changed into a lovely cerulean gown that showed of her sparkling eyes and creamy complexion, and Brandelyn was as lovely in her deep burgundy gown, thought Austin. It almost made his having to keep company with Abernathy through the night worth it. He had noted that Jena hadn't been in the common room when he returned from dinner, but hadn't thought of the girl in a while. He cast his eyes around the room again – he hadn't seen her lurking, but then again the room had been magically enlarged for the dancing, and all the furniture was vanished to somewhere else. He realized the girl would likely have no use for the night's festivities. She probably didn't even own a dress, he thought somewhat guiltily. He knew the dorm rooms had games for some of the younger kids anyway, and it was likely she had gone into one of those unnoticed. One more dance then, and he'd take a walk through to see.

At 2:00 am, his wand started to glow softly, and a soft chiming sounded. It was all the former potions master/new DADA professor needed to rouse himself for his turn at patrols. The curfew had been midnight to be in the dormitories, and 2 am for lights out for the oldest of his snakes. He would see to them first, and then check the corridors.

He was greeted by a very sleepy looking portrait guardian, who did little more than tip his hat, and waved him through. He entered the common room, noting that just a cluster of his prefects and their dates were shaking hands in a comically formal way of ending the evening. He knew Mr. Murphy would never suffer the overbearing antics of Mr. Abernathy willingly, but it appeared that perhaps the younger teen had made some inroads on the older boy's arrogant behavior this night, and things were ending on a more positive note. He had not been blind to a squabble at the table earlier. It was clear that their female companions were becoming fast friends. Abernathy, who caught the approaching Professor in his peripheral vision, quickly turned away and started for his dorm. His years as a spy let him see the deceit in the motions, and he was amused by it. Let the boy think his sucking up had caused him leeway. He had already plotted another set of 'lessons' as he was certain the boy had been acting insincerely, and had likely not learned his lesson.

"Mr. Murphy, Ms. Sarisbury, Ms. Jenkin. I trust it that you had a pleasant evening, and I take it that all the younger years have reported to their dorms?"

"Aye sir, but I never saw Jena come back." the fifth year prefect said with a sigh. "None of the first years came out to tell us that she wasn't here, and I am pretty sure they would have, but I personally didn't see her." he said, chagrin clearly written in his expression.

"Ms. Kearns seemed distressed this evening." Professor Savoy replied quietly, "It is likely she went to bed earlier than the rest. But I do appreciate your thoroughness in personally seeing to her safety. That said, it is extremely unlikely that she is not in her dorm, and the worst that can be is that she holed up somewhere in the castle, and by all means safe, as the castle was warded tonight from students leaving. Ms. Sarisbury, I believe your sister is a first year?" at her nod of acknowledgement the professor continued, "Then I can trouble you to check and be sure that Ms. Kearns did arrive safely tonight, and is in residence? I would like to be notified by breakfast if that's not the case." he noted that Austin seemed upset by the situation.

"I did see Ms. Kearns before dinner, and I realize by what she said then that Ms. Kearns likely misconstrued a conversation, but even if she is not in her dorms, it is from her overreacting. I am sure that this is a situation easily resolved in the morning. Why don't you say goodnight to your lovely date," the professor reassured the boy, giving him a warm, albeit tired smile "and I will keep an eye out for Jena should she be elsewhere."

As the night progressed and he wandered the familiar halls, he occasionally opened a classroom door, or poked his lit wand in an alcove. Certain to make lots of noise, so the interlopers who dared try out their luck in finding privacy for their parings scuttled out of his way. He truly didn't want to be bothered overseeing any detentions. How much different than his former self, he thought wryly. And now that his free time wasn't spent spying and trying to save the world, how much harder did he try to protect it. He wondered exactly what had gotten into that girl's brain though? Surely she was in her dorm room. He sighed. He knew she would have many wounds to heal; he put the child out of his mind. She was likely resting.

She didn't know how long it had been since she had been shoved into the cupboard, but if felt like hours, if not a whole day. Her arms were completely numb now, and her shoulders ached constantly. She knew her skin was likely raw where the fabric bound her in place or at least it felt like it. She had felt the fabric give a couple of times. Her only cloak, she thought, and it would be ruined. She was in so much trouble. She took a deep breath, trying to quell not only panic but tears, and kicked four times. She had been exhausted early by the constant kicking, so now she kicked, and waited through a count to 200, and kicked again. The counting kept her mind off things, like her fear of the dark, or the fact that dinner had come and gone, and no one had came for her, and that if someone didn't come, then she would likely not be able to get out by herself. She shook herself, and determinedly started the next count.

The DADA professor wound down his patrol at 4pm, running into the Headmistress.

"The only students still out of bounds are a group of Gryffindor that I haven't quite managed to pin down." he reported with a tired smile.

"They are that crafty, to slip by a world renowned Dark Arts expert?" the headmistress replied smartly, but amusement played in her soft grey eyes.

"Oh, I am certain that just a few more minutes, it would be the Head of House of Slytherin meting out their punishment, but how much more satisfying when it's the Headmistress herself?"

"And a former Gryffindor head of house?" she noted wryly.

"Exactly." Professor Savoy noted with a chuckle, and returned to his dungeons, waving goodnight to his boss. He knew with such a late night, that he wouldn't get an update on Jena for a few more hours, even though the girl was typically an early riser. He headed to his quarter to get a few more hours sleep.

Austin felt his wand wake him at 7am, and rose with a groan. Last night had been particularity enjoyable, and as breakfast was served at 9, he did get to sleep an hour later than usual. He would have pushed the lie in by another hour if he had been 100% certain that Jena was in her bed. He sighed exasperatedly. He was going to have a very long talk with the girl. He quickly showered and changed and went to the common room, which was almost completely empty at 7:30. No Jena. Great. And no first years, and no Brandelyn to go check, he thought sourly, and grabbed a chair by the fire and a quidditch magazine that someone had donated to the common room for general consumption, and settled in to wait.

It was 8:15 before one of the first year girls emerged. Misha walked out slowly twining her fingers through her hair to settle the curls that she had painstakingly put in last night. With care, they'd last for the weekend.

"Misha, is Jena I the dorm?" Ausitn asked politely.

"Well good morning to you too," quipped the girl, nose in the air.

"Misha, I am serious, I have to report to Professor Savoy." he replied exasperatedly.

"Well, you could start by apologizing for your rude behavior." The fifth year prefect sighed heavily.

"Fine. Forgive my abruptness, Ms. Nott, I assume you had a pleasant evening and slept well?" he said, with perfectly false politeness.

"Much better, and yes I slept fine, thank you."

"And your dorm mate, Ms. Kearns, is she in residence?"

"Haven't a clue. She keeps her curtains pulled on her bed. She didn't wake us with one of her stupid nightmares, so I assume she slept ok, not that I care."

Nightmares? Well that's news, he thought.

"So her curtains were pulled but you are sure she was in there?" he asked again.

"I said I didn't see her, so I assume so, but couldn't really tell you." she replied, shrugging.

"Would you be so kind as to go check?" the boy replied, clearly at the end of his patience.

"I really don't care to." the girl replied with a frown.

"I insist. Check, or I will dock points." Austin snapped, finally reaching his limit. With a sneer, the girl turned on heel and returned to her dorm, only to return in a few minutes.

"Her bed is empty and is all made up. She must already be up studying. There, satisfied?" she snapped clearly annoyed at the interruption in her day.

"Not hardly. No one has seen her since before dinner, she could be in trouble. Go check with the rest of your dorm mates and see if they have seen her." he ordered testily.

"Look, half the time she is up before daylight studying or getting tutored, or whatever it is that she does, and half the time she is up half the night on her bed doing the same thing, with the curtains drawn. We don't see her hardly ever, got it? So why should I bother and go ask when they are all going to tell you the same thing?"she said rolling her eyes.

"She's a Slytherin and a dorm mate, and could be in trouble, that's why. Now do it, or you can explain to Professor Savoy during your detention why you didn't do as I asked." he said tiredly. He knew the girl had a point, but really, who had known that Jena was up at all hours of the morning and night studying? The girl really did work too hard. He really regretted not giving her a real break before the scene with Matilda. Even so, the girl needed a serious talking too if she was off pouting somewhere.

It was nearly 8:30 am before Austin reached the Professor's door. The man came to the door, his sandy brownish blown hair looking a bit more auburn since it was slightly damp from the shower, although it was neatly combed and the Professor was freshly shaved. However, his eyes had dark smudges under them and he had the not quite awake look of a waitress in need of another cup of coffee before the early shift, Austin thought sympathetically.

"Good morning Mr. Murphy. It's a bit early to be by for a chat when you were up half the night dancing, isn't it?" he enquired with a bit of mirth.

"Sorry to disturb you before breakfast sir, but Jena wasn't in the common room this morning." Austin informed the DADA Professor.

Professor Savoy let a sigh, and resisted the urge to glower at the boy. Obviously the current situation was not the boy's fault. He waved the boy into his private quarters, which were fronted by his study, which had a couple of very comfortable wingback chairs and a small davenport, arranged around a desk which flanked a large hearth. The desk was neatly organized with his current reading and correspondence, and had a tea service on one edge.

"Have a seat, and I am having a bit of coffee before breakfast. Not terribly British of me, I am afraid, but in New Zealand we use a plunger and drink things a bit stronger before we breakfast, mmm?" he said, indicating with a gesture that the boy was welcome to a cup as well.

"No, that's all right sir; coffee is a bit bitter for me." he replied with a smile, but worry was still evident in his eyes.

"Let's start from the beginning shall we. When was the last that someone saw her?"

"I think that might have been me." Austin said holding back a cringe. "It was just after classes let out for the day, and I figured that Jena knew that Semain was a day to take a bit of a break, but she showed up for tutoring anyway." he explained.

"How did she seem to you then?"

"Well, Matilda was a bit harsher with her than I would have been, but Jena didn't seem unduly upset."

"I concur, when she showed up at my office, she seemed to be more anxious to be at loose ends than anything, but then she left a bit abruptly which is also unusual for her. As we both have observed in the past, sometimes she hides what she is really feeling especially when feeling unwell; this may translate in hiding when she is upset too. But no one has seen her since she left my office, shortly after leaving the common room?"

"No sir. Her bed was made, and the curtains drawn. Apparently she leaves them that way. According to Ms. Nott, it's because she is up before dark studying, has nightmares that she hasn't told anyone about, and after lights out sometimes gets up to study some more." he said exasperatedly.

"That's news. I obviously have not been thorough enough in explaining to her how important maintaining her physical health is." he muttered. "It would seem that Jena is very anxious about doing well, and was under more stress than we realized. Given that, where is it likely she would hide?"

"That's just it sir. I know she ran off and hid before, but she was afraid, I think of someone that was going to physically harm her. Hiding has a purpose. She went to a small, not completely enclosed space - just something that she could get out of sight quickly, but wouldn't get trapped in she said. I can't imagine that if we are correct why she is not in her dorm or what would cause her to hide; it would serve no purpose and she knows she would be in trouble for missing meals." he said, brow furrowed in true puzzlement.

"Well, the teachers kept an eye out for her last night and didn't see her. Let's see if she just went to bed early, and got up to study early, and shows at breakfast, shall we?" replied the Professor has he tossed back the last of his rather strong cup of black coffee, and motioned the boy toward the door. They made their way to the great hall in silence, both lost in thought.

Savoy noted it was just before breakfast was to be served, and his snakes were straggling in, but Jena had yet to arrive. He sighed; it was not unusual for her to be late for breakfast. He tried to remember it was because she was being so studious. Certainly, she had covered a great deal of primary education in only two months! But the child simply would not put any importance on showing up for a meal. He sighed, eyes catching the 5th year prefect who shrugged and found a seat.

Austin distractedly served a plate while scanning the entrances for his missing firstie, so missed the older students who suddenly sat down across from him.

"Oh, good morning Matilda, sleep well?" he asked a smile edging some of the worry off of his face.

"I thought you might have waited for me in the common room to accompany me to breakfast, but obviously I was wrong about you having good manners." she chastised keeping her eyes averted by busily serving herself a plate.

"I was following up on where Jena has gotten to. No one sure she came back to the common room last night. I apologize, I didn't realize you would be expecting that." he replied, getting somewhat flustered, but Matilda merely rolled her eyes.

"She still hasn't showed up yet then?" enquired Brandelyn who sat next to Matilda, although she seemed somewhat disinterested.

"Not you too?" Matilda complained to her friend.

"She's 11; she shouldn't be off by herself. I would want someone checking up on my sister, although it is annoying/" the older girl conceded to her friend.

"Well they better not cancel the Hogsmeade trip today," she said waspishly, but turned the conversation quickly to gossip about the dance.

Austin only half listened. Matilda was lovely he thought, but maybe it was because she is an only child that she can't be too concerned about others. He sighed, sill not catching sight of a certain small girl.

Professor Savoy turned to the Headmistress. "I don't mean to alarm you, Headmistress, but one of my students didn't report to the dorms last night, I'm afraid. I have every faith she is in the castle, but I will be calling a house meeting after breakfast to have her housemates scour the castle for her."

"Oh Dear. I hope they didn't get pranked by those Gryffindors I found trying to tie two Hufflepuffs together with spellotape." she sighed before refilling her tea. "Who is it?"

"I seriously doubt that. It's Ms. Kearns. She is far too skittish to get caught of guard by some mischievous lions."

"I am sure you are right, but please keep me informed." she replied. "That girl gets into more trouble." she said sadly, shaking her head.

"She doesn't intend to." He replied quietly rising to his feet.

"Don't worry, Professor. She is not first student here to attract an unfair amount of trouble. At least there isn't a Madman trying to kill her."

He gave the woman a passing smile, but his eyes were cold.

"Perish the thought."

Jena was far past panic, and far past reality. She had run out of the energy to pound against the side, and she had stopped counting. Her arms were a constant agony, a burning sensation deep within the joints, and her mind was receding from the pain. She wanted to escape, to be out of here. No one had come to find her. She knew no one should care, and the past couple of months had been a cruel joke, her tricking herself that the professor and Austin did. She was not worthy of it, not entitled to it, expecting it was a trap. She had berated herself for a while for being so stupid, but her mind had let go of that too, and recoiled from those painful emotions to a safer place. She was trying to think of nothing, to be nothing, to be free of all her pain. It was dark, and still, and the only noises she heard were the sound of her own breathing. She focused on the sound, and tried to think of nothing else. She tried to sense no one and nothing, and simply get lost in the present darkness. More than she wanted her ordeal to end, she simply wanted to end.

She didn't know if she fell asleep or was dreaming, but a small spot of light seemed to appear to her, and she could feel a warmth spreading from her chest and out into nothingness. She wasn't sure what the feeling was, or what the light was, and she thought her eyes were closed, but suddenly, none of that was important. The light grew until it was all encompassing, a space that totally encompassed her mind. It was not too bright, it was warm, and suddenly golden strands stretched out before her, radiating out like so many paths in a maze. She had a sense that she was really here, in this space at this time, but this space and time was actually nowhere, and she took a tentative step forward, only to notices al the 'paths' suddenly rippled like ribbons fluttering in a wind, and she knew irrevocably something had changed, but she had no idea what. Then, she was aware that there were things, floating on these paths, giant orbs of light. And somehow she knew that they were people, and that they were moving, but yet they were her, and they were not. Not moving and not changing yet doing so too. She didn't understand, it was all so confusing, but somehow she wasn't afraid. In the lights there was one, closest, dimmer than the rest; somewhat rose colored, tinting toward lavender and then reds, growing dimmer and brighter uncertainly. She felt that this light was weak, and maybe not as connected as the others, she couldn't say for sure why that was. She reached what she thought was her hand out to it. She touched it, and the color faded to a purer, white light, and then the orb became strong and golden, like the others, and suddenly she knew that she should not do this and pulled back, and was plunged into darkness, and pain. Jena completely blacked out.


	17. Chapter 17  Found

Readers: You might notice that this is technically a week late from my normal posting schedule. However, how many of you noticed that the last chapter, which was on time, was double length? My apologies for not warning you in advance that it would mean a delay in getting this chapter up.

For those of you who read my first short – A Different Kind of Fetching – there has been enough response that I will be posting a second chapter. That *might* cause the next chapter of this story to be late. We will do our best.

Disclaimers: I might offend, I might intrude, I might assume, I might leave typos, I might find a beta, I might not. However, all of that is irrelevant. I am not Ms. Rowling, I wouldn't have killed Snape, I wouldn't have killed Lupin (but I don't care enough about that to bring him back); and I certainly wouldn't have left a bunch of teenagers in a forest for a year! No money made here, obviously! On with the story…

Professor Savoy noted that breakfast was winding down, and got to his feet, just as he heard the Headmistress.

"Sybill!" the Headmistress hissed in surprise as the oddly attired woman slipped sideways from her seat onto the floor.

"I thought you'd given up the sherry…" Professor Savoy heard the Headmistress mutter and looked around. He quickly strode over to assist his fallen colleague and his employer; he noted however he could not smell the tell tale sign of alcohol, nor did her eyes close in a faint. Rather her eyes, strangely magnified by their too-large glasses seemed more luminous than normal, and like they were gazing into space, at something remote.

"Professor Trelawney, are you quite alright?" the Headmistress asked somewhat unsurely as she knelt down by the woman.

"There is another seer her! She's in trouble. We must find her." The woman said weakly but with urgency.

"Sybill, calm yourself. Have you been drinking?" the Headmistress asked frowning, glancing over at her DADA professor who was crouched down with her, and the other teachers who had huddled around.

"Filius, could you dismiss breakfast please, and Pomona, could you let Poppy know we are on our way with Sybill?" The headmistress knew that the best way to keep this from becoming a spectacle was to keep her staff and students busy.

"Headmistress, I don't smell sherry. She seems to be in a bit of trance," he informed her quietly, only to have the Headmistress look at him sharply. Damn! How could he be so stupid – he shouldn't know Trelawney's drink of choice! He kept his face careful neutral and tried not to respond to her penetrating gaze.

"Of course people gossip if such things, don't they?" she muttered to herself. "A trance you say?" she said to him nodding. "She is a Seer, albeit an infrequent one. We should likely have Poppy check her over. Do you sense any hexes or the like?" she asked her DADA professor.

Taking his wand and casting a few detection spells all came back negative.

"There are no curses present."

"Isn't one of your children missing? I suggest we find her, and have her meet Sybill" the Headmistress sighed, her face looking much older as worry was etched here. "And hope there isn't another bloody prophecy." muttered the Headmistress so softy she was sure no one could hear it. Professor Savoy just caught it however, and shuddering as if suddenly chilled, quickly stepped away before the Headmistress noticed his unease.

Standing, he approached his house's table, and addressed the remaining students who were trying to watch the commotion at the head table without making it too obvious, but failing miserably. "Slytherins – there will be a brief house meeting in 20 minutes; please report to the common room." There were a few groans, and some nervous mutterings, but the prefects all looked at each other. Matilda's eyes narrowed, but the group remained silent.

"He better not cancel Hogsmead." Matilda muttered, and got up, not waiting for Austin, and went to the common room. Brandelyn shot him Austin a sympathetic smile briefly, and gathered herself with Abernathy suddenly realizing that he needed to follow. Austin sighed and folded his serviette.

"Jena, when we find you, you are going to get such a lecture…" he muttered to himself under his breath and rose, following his straggling housemates and corralling the younger ones toward the common room.

The common room was just settling in when Professor Savoy strode through the door. Everyone quieted immediately. Without preamble, he started addressing his snakes.

"Jena Kearns has not been seen since yesterday afternoon in the common room. We have very good reason to believe she never left the castle, however. We need to find her. As this isn't an emergency per se, I'd like to ask for volunteers. I realize this is the first Hogsmead weekend of the year, so upper years, I'd ask that you think about volunteering to allow the younger members who haven't had a chance to go to Hogsmead yet. I want four groups of four at the least. Please meet me in the great hall in 20 minutes." Not waiting for a reply the man swept from the room.

"I'm volunteering." Austin informed then immediately, but Matilda just rolled her eyes.

"I'll join you." replied Brandelyn, much to the surprise of Austin.

"We had a date!" spluttered Abernathy angrily.

"This is more important." Brandelyn replied neutrally "Morganna! Want to search with me on my team?"

"Sure." replied the first year, "You said you'd show me more of the castle."

Professor Savoy was surprised when 21 of his snakes showed in the great hall. He had really thought he would get the minimum 16 he had requested. He quickly sectioned off the school and sent the students on his way, and started his own patrol. Lunch came and went; the students had a brief but quiet lunch, not totally discouraged. Now, it was nearly dinner. The child had been missing for almost 24 hours. The students had been joined by the faculty and even the resident ghosts. The Headmistress would make an announcement at dinner, and the remaining houses were being asked to join in the search. Professor Savoy sighed. He was truly confused, if the girl had just ran off, they should have found her by now.

The group of students who had been searching stared disconsolately at the table, talking little, but was quickly joined by the more exuberant children returning from Hogsmead. The other houses took note of the more subdued Slytherins.

"Attention. Before dinner begins, we have an announcement. Jena Kearns went missing from the Slytherin dorms before the feast yesterday. If anyone knows of her whereabouts, please see a prefect of professor immediately. After dinner, all students will report to the common rooms; the only students that will be out of the common rooms until curfew are those who wish to volunteer to search. See your head of house in the common room immediately after dinner if you wish to help with the search... Now dig in." announced the headmistress.

Professor Savoy watched all the children carefully as the announcement was made. He noticed that a group of the rowdier Gryffindors suddenly got quiet and huddled, as if in a consult, while the rest of the children muttered somewhat nervously. He narrowed his eyes; he would question those children.

"My dear Professor, you look so severe glaring at those children. You remind me of our old potions professor."

Professor Savoy quickly schooled his features.

"Really, Headmistress? I heard he was quite severe." he gave her a droll smile. "Certainly, I can't do him justice?"

He watched the Headmistress as her gaze hardened, but her eyes grew somewhat sad. "No one could do him justice, I'm afraid. But I do appreciate you looking after you charges. What caused you to glare at the Lions?"

"The group of boys looks like they are making trouble."

"Aye, they do at that. But boys will be boys; I doubt it has anything to do with Ms. Kearns."

"You wouldn't be opposed to checking, Headmistress?"

"Oh, alright, but only to overt another Slytherin Gryffindor war." She replied amicably.

Jena slowly became aware, and opened her eyes, and yet darkness still surrounded her. Her shoulders back and neck all ached. She tried to move but the twisting and kicking earlier had wrenched her back, and her legs felt like rubber. Her head hurt, and she couldn't think; she was cold and hot at the same time, and she couldn't breathe. She thought she might be sick, but if she vomited in the small space. She breathed slowly through her nose, and simply tried not to think. She was alone, there was o one here to hurt her. The slower breathing calmed her; and resignation was left in her stomach. She had always hoped for something- for something she couldn't name, for a sense of self, of place of belonging. For one fleeting moment, she had it – she was a student, a Slytherin, and a friend. Maybe she hadn't been any of those things, after all, but she didn't want them, it hurt too much to lose them. She would take that bit of happiness after all she was worthless and didn't deserve it and should be grateful. It would end soon. That was good. She was ready for an end. She thought she closed her eyes, but she couldn't be sure. She tried to keep her eyes closed, and wait. It would end.

Curfew was fast approaching and nearly 100 children were scouring the castle now. But no one had turned up any signs of Jena. Professor Savoy was fast beginning to believe that the wards had failed, and there was no way the child could be in the castle. He had agreed to meet the Headmistress at her office.

"Tea Professor Savoy?" she offered, clearly noting that her colleague was fatigued.

"No thank you. I was wondering if we might visit each of the common rooms and encourage students to come forward if they know something?" he requested, eyes distant.

"Surely you don't suspect foul play?" scoffed the Headmistress.

"I don't know what to suspect, but I do know that it's more than 24 hours since Ms. Kearns has been seen. If she is injured or trapped, we may not have another 24 hours to find her. If she has wondered off the grounds, maybe someone saw her." He said, tiredly rubbing a hand tiredly over his face.

"She will be found, Professor." assured the headmistress, not unkindly. "But if it makes you feel better, we will check the common rooms. They made their way, speaking with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, but to no avail. The last common room, thought Professor Savoy grimly.

"Those boys said they hadn't seen her?" he asked again.

"Yes, they seemed quite sincere, too." Said the Headmistress sternly, clearly exasperated with the situation. They quickly made their way through the Portrait hole.

"Good evening Gryffindors, may I have your attention please? While I am sure you are all aware we have not been able to find Ms. Kearns, I want to ask that if you have any information at all that might help with her whereabouts, please come forward." Professor Savoy scanned the room; many were huddled and muttering about the Headmistress's announcement, but only one group looked about guilty – the one from earlier during dinner.

"You should know," said Professor Savoy slowly, "that Ms. Kearns came to school very sick, and had only just recovered. If she is trapped without food, water or medicine, we have only another 2 days at most to find her." He allowed his gaze to fall on the guilty looking boys, all steadfastly were refusing to look at him. With no one immediately coming forward the Headmistress and DADA professor made their way from the common room.

"You certainly didn't say anything like that to the rest of the houses?" stated the Headmistress enquiringly.

"No, but I suspect those guilty looking boys know something. Gryffindors are brave and noble, I was appealing to that."

"Ah, well perhaps the house of Slytherin is for you." she said, a smile in her eyes if not mirrored in the firm set of her mouth. "Is Ms. Kearns situation as dire as you say?"

"Likely more so. She hasn't managed to gain even a stone in two months. I can't think of a student I less like to miss this many meals in a row. I hope she had water wherever she is."

"Keep me informed." Stated the Headmistress as he bid her good night and returned to the dungeons.

As he entered the Slytherin common room, he couldn't' help but notice how subdued his own house is, nor the upset and consternation on Mr. Murphy's face.

"Thank you all for spending some much of your Saturday helping with the search. We will take the evening off, however, and rest. Searching begins tomorrow again at 6 am; we will search from 6 am to breakfast. If we haven't found her by then, we will once again engage the other houses, and begin searching outside the castle. I know this is a difficult situation, but try to stay calm and positive." He said quietly.

"Sir, I don't think the other students are taking this very seriously." Replied his 6th year prefect, Bartholomew Farnsworth. Professor Savoy noted that Austin smiled gratefully at the boy; he had known they were friends.

"I and the headmistress just visited all of the common rooms. If they were not dedicated in their searching today, I guarantee that they will be tomorrow." He bid his snakes goodnight, and continued to do his rounds, keeping vigilant for the small waif of a girl.

Sunday brought Professor Savoy back to the Slytherin Common room; the three hours passed quickly with no sign of the girl. The first big break came at breakfast.

At the head table, the Headmistress updated the staff that Sybill had spent the night in the infirmary as a precaution, and had been somewhat unresponsive. She remained there resting under the Matron's careful watch. The staff dug into their meal, however, not very many minutes passed before a house elf popped in front of the Headmistress.

"Headmistress McGonagall, be forgiven Mitsy for coming to the breakfast, but Diddee found a note about the missing girl, she did; and you'd be tell'n Mitsy to come to you right away." The nervous little house elf stated shyly, shifting from foot to foot in her nervousness.

"Colleagues," announced the headmistress, 'I would like to introduce our head house elf, Mitsy." The headmistress took the note form the little elf. She perused the small scrap of parchment, and handed it to the DADA professor.

"Check the cupboards?" he said, reading the note aloud. "I believe we have, but it wouldn't hurt to do so again. Perhaps this is a prank." At the end of breakfast, the headmistress rose.

"We will begin searching the castle again immediately. 6th and 7th years, please report to Hagrid outside to start searching the grounds and the Forbidden forest. We have received an anonymous note. It says to 'check the cupboards'. If this is a prank, we you will be very sorry. If you knew where Ms. Kearns is and didn't come forward there will be dire consequences. I will inform you now, there will be consequence either way, but if you come forward on your own, that will be taken into consideration."

"I can run the spells and have the student who wrote this identified within in the hour." Professor Savoy informed the Headmistress

.

"I'd rather you not. Let's give the person who wrote the note the time to do the right thing."

"Ms. Kearns could be injured, or ill."

"A few more hours will not make much difference." The Headmistress replied dismissively. "Ms. Kearns will be fine."

"She could be trapped, alone and terrified!" insisted the DADA professor.

"And she will be fine once she is recovered." Replied the Headmistress sternly.

"As you wish, Headmistress." he replied tersely but threw his serviette next to his plate, and exited the Great hall. If he could not look for clues, he would simply look for the girl.

Jena saw a pinpoint of light, but realized it was in her mind, not in the cupboard. She must be dreaming. She felt the warmth in her chest, connecting her nothing, or maybe it was everything. In this place in her dream there was really no difference. The light grew much faster this time, suddenly filling her entire mind. Golden strands appeared much more quickly this time, and again she had the sense that each strand was a path leading out into the unknown. The things floating on the paths seemed familiar somehow. Familiar as in people. She saw one, and realized it was Professor Savoy, and he was talking to her.

'You belong Jena. You are my family. You are my daughter, a wife, a mother, a sister. You will never be alone, and you will always be cherished. I cherish you. I love you Jena, and I always will.' Her heart ached, and she was devastated. Why could she see this? Such would never happen to anyone as worthless as her. And then she realized that some of the lights were her, but they were different somehow, changed from what she was now. Many were by themselves, alone. Many were closer and dimmer. She didn't' know what that meant.

The gold strands waved and shifted, and changed, in some way, but in the narrower strand, where she had seen the professor, this one was unique. Quickly she realized that some of the strands were actually the same, well they were different here, but the same later, or rather, different now, and later then? All of this flowed into her mind like music to a deaf person who had just regained the sense of hearing. It was overwhelming and too much. She knew from the first time that she should not touch or reach, but she did not know how she came to be here, or how she left. It was a dream, maybe she should wake up? But she felt very much awake. One extremely bright light came to her, a man she realized, that she had never seen. He reached out to her and pushed. Pain seared through her very core, as she was broken away from a gold strand she was attached to. This had changed her, altered her in some basic, intense way, and yet she had no understanding of what had just happened. Pain ripped through her head, and again, she fell into nothingness.

On the 7th floor, he had checked every cupboard in the castle. He was so sick of brooms and mops. He had no idea if this was a prank. He tried the point me spell again, but those had never worked in Hogwarts; something in the wards prevented it. He sighed; it was a joke in very poor taste. It was nearing lunch. If the children who left that note were not punished, there would be hell to pay. His internal dialogue was cut short by the sound of shoe soles slapping against the pavement. Martin and Erick – two of his Slytherin first years.

"Professor Savoy, come quick. Some Gryffindors just admitted to pushing Jena in a cupboard. Well, really, an armoire, but they can't remember where it is, just that it's out in a hallway." Martin managed to gasp out between panting breaths.

Professor Savoy considered them shortly. Due to the incident with Draco Malfoy and the vanishing cabinet, he actually knew where every such piece of furniture lay; but that was in his previous life time, and he had already given those around him far more clues than he was comfortable with. There was a route that was almost perfectly direct where he could check two cabinets on the way…

"The Headmistress has asked that all the teachers assemble in the common room. They are making a list of all the cabinets they can recall and then dispatching the prefects to check them."

"Fine, follow me." he stated, and strode down the corridor. As they came to the first cabinet, they found students checking it, but it was empty.

The second cabinet, near the library, didn't have anyone checking it. Professor Savoy approached it quickly. How many times had people walked by this place? The upper part of the armoire, which was like a cupboard was deep, but not very tall as it had drawers underneath. He cast a wandless detection spell, only to find that the cupboard had been recently charmed, with a silencing spell. He nearly flew to the cupboard. Inside, dangling like some long lost marionette was Jena. She was clearly unconscious, and opening the cupboard had not roused her.

"Martin, continue on to the staff room, and call off the search. Ask the Headmistress to meet me in the infirmary. Erik, run ahead to the infirmary, and alert Madame Pomfrey. Both boys took one look into the cabinet at the distressed body of their classmate, and quickly ran to do what they were told.

Professor Savoy carefully disengaged her cloak from the hooks in the back of the cupboard, and gathered the girl into her arms. Although unconscious, the girl whimpered. The shoulders of her cloak were twisted and clearly ripped, and he could see bits of blood on the white shirt underneath. The child was shivering, although asleep. He carefully shifted the child so she rested partially in the cabinet, took of his own cloak, and wrapped it around her much too small frame. Movement, and pressure, especially at the shoulders brought the child distress, and she whimpered again. He swept her up against his chest, gently cradling her, realizing that she was much too light a burden.

"Hush Jena. I know it hurts, it's going to be alright." He muttered under his breath, his whole being swept by relief that the child was found, worry that she was harmed, and anger. He was going to kill those Gryffidors.


	18. Chapter 18  Vision

It was a long trek to the infirmary, even with such a light burden. Jena didn't rouse, although he heard some faint whimpers, and she was trembling. He walked through the doors and directly to a bed that the Matron had already turned down to accept the young charge. He gently extracted her from his cloak and set it aside as Madame Pomfrey cast several spells in a series.

"Professor Savoy, where did you find her?"

"She was trapped in an armoire, hanging from her robes."

The Mediwitch sighed. "There is traumatic damage to both shoulders. The combination of weight and the restriction of the fabric forced the joints to dislocate as well as cutting off blood flow to certain muscles. While I can set a broken bone or cure a cut instantly, tears, tissue damage and dislocation take time and patience to heal. She is going to need assistance to resume her studies. She is in shock, and she is magically depleted. She is also dehydrated, but that's to be expected. I expect her to need a week here, Professor."

"Magically depleted? Did she perform accidental magic?" he asked, one eyebrow quirking up in real confusion.

"That's certainly one possibility. It could be that her state was dire enough for her to need to survive off her magic."

"She didn't miss that many meals." the professor relied haughtily.

"I wasn't criticizing you professor," she replied kindly, reaching for a potion, "and without these nutrient potions you have provided, the healing process would take a lot longer."

"How long until she wakes?"

"That's very hard for me to say. She exhausted herself and the shock says that's more than just physical and magical."

"I need to deal with the student's who caused this." he said quietly, "But I think it's important that someone is here that she trusts when she wakes."

"Let the Headmistress deal with the culprits then, Professor Savoy. I agree that she will need someone she trusts, and for whatever reason, she has not created a connection with me."

"Madame Pomfrey, do you run tests on the children to find out if they have any particular talents?" he asked curiously surprised that after so many years at the school in his previous life, he actually didn't' know the answer to that question.

"No, not unless a teacher notices something unusual. Why do you ask?"

"Ms. Kearns has demonstrated empathic abilities. She grows anxious when the reaction she is seeing does not match the emotional response she is sensing. While your professional demeanor is beyond reproach, I believe that may arouse anxiety in her when she is around you." he explained.

"So that is why you don't cover your irritation or terseness?" she replied, but her eyes showed her mirth.

"Of course." he replied drily.

"Let me just get her settled and the rest of her injuries healed then, and I will cast a charm to see where her abilities lie."

"Why don't you run it on all children?"

"Because the test only determines potential, not actual ability."

"All children should reach their full potential." he replied.

"Yes, but let's say Jena had potential in the mental arts, but never learned occulmency. Let's say it's because her empathy prevented her from doing so. Now, let's say someone tried to teach her and beat her over the head with the fact that they knew should be successful…

"So the spell is specific to the potential for a talent, but not necessarily how such a potential will manifest."

"Very much so."

A warbling voice entered from off the main infirmary hall, floating above. "None may know powers the Seer holds at bay!"

The child chose that moment to whimper and try to thrash but all the while the Mediwitch had her firmly tucked into an infirmary bed. Professor Savoy quickly moved over to the bedside and placed a hand gently on her forehead, keeping her from moving.

"Hush, child. You are going to be fine." he told her gently. Whether it was the touch or the words the child quieted once more.

The Mediwitch rolled her eyes. "I am not quite sure what has gotten into our dear Sybill, but I do hope it recedes soon." she stated, clearly exasperated.

"Really? She said that there was another Seer lost in the school, and then the Headmistress suggested we introduce her to Jena."

"Good grief. Well, we will humor the Headmistress if the two happen to cross paths." Professor Savoy merely smirked, knowing full well that the little Mediwitch's tone clearly implied that the thought of the two meeting was laughable, and likely never to happen.

She woke slowly, and the first thing that she was aware of is that she hurt. Everywhere. Most notably at her shoulders. Her throat was raw and dry. And then she realized, she was horizontal, not vertical. She slowly opened her eyes, trying to sense what was around her. She could see that someone had pushed a large overstuffed chair to the foot of her bed, and her head of house was currently reading by candlelight. His face was drawn in concentration. He had soft, grey blue eyes, but if she concentrated on them, the edges blurred, and she saw darkness at their depths. He had dark sandy colored hair with a hint of red, and a warm approachable face. But again, when she looked at him just so, darkness blurred the edges. She had that sense before, but it was much clearer to her now.

She sensed quiet contemplation mostly from the man. She lay very still. She hurt. The armoire, and those awful boys, the fact that Austin didn't care for her, and her own humiliation in not being able to relate that to Professor Savoy came back to her in waves. She began to tremble, and tried to stop. She should be stronger than that!

Whether it was the constant eyes on him or the fact that the child had began trembling again, Professor Savoy glanced up from his book.

"Your awake, child, that is good. How are you?" he inquired softly, putting the book aside and making his way in very deliberate motions to her bed as not to startle her. He perched on the edge as he looked down into her face, and gently took one of her hands in reassurance.

"Professor," she tried to speak, but her voice was too scratchy, and all of the sudden she realized she had no idea what to say. Everything seemed like a great big mess and she had no idea what to do. Would they kick her out for the trouble she caused? Tears welled in her eyes and she tried valiantly not to let them fall.

Professor Savoy watched as several emotions flit across the small child's face but hearing the voice crack he reached for a cup next to the bed. It had a muggle straw in it for which he was grateful that the pureblood nonsense was over.

"Don't try to talk just yet. You have been asleep for quite some time, and it's been a long time since you had something to drink. The water should help your throat."

She concentrated on the water. It felt like pure bliss. She tried to ease herself up so she could drink more quickly but her shoulders protested and would not hold her. And it hurt! She gasped at the sudden shockwave of pain that flooded her.

"Easy, Jena. Those shoulders are healing and you shouldn't try to move on your own. I don't want you to drink this water too quickly. It's been a while since you have had anything to eat or drink so I need you to proceed slowly."

When she had finished the water, he tried again. "How do you feel Jena? Are you in pain?"

She nodded once, and he watched wariness over came her.

"I'm sorry." she said quietly. Professor Savoy couldn't' fathom what she was sorry for, but quickly realized that she was sorry for this, for being here, for her very existence maybe. It made him angry that anyone had put the child in such a state. He tamped down on his anger quickly as he watched her grow scared and confused.

"I am not angry at you, child. You have done nothing wrong. I am angry because someone's thoughtlessness has brought you a great deal of suffering. I am angry that your life up till now had made you believe that has something to do with you, as if you were responsible for it." He sighed as he realized the child was watching him carefully and still in a very guarded fashion.

"You indicated you were in pain. Where do you hurt?" he asked gently.

"My shoulders mostly."

"Mostly?"

"I am just a bit sore all over I guess. I am sorry to complain about it sir." She replied fearfully.

"You are not complaining. I asked, and I need to know. Let me get Madame Pomfrey and see what we can do about that."

It was a few minutes before the Mediwitch appeared in her night dress and slippers, carrying a little ceramic pot.

"It's good to see you awake, Ms. Kearns, although I can honestly say I am very much annoyed at the children who landed you here in the first place. And I am sorry, but the best thing for your soreness is this liniment, but it's time consuming to apply. It will go much quicker if Professor Savoy and I do it together, do you mind?"

She watched the Mediwitch carefully. The stout little witch \ was annoyed, and concerned, and something else she couldn't quite name. Studying? Intent? Jena wasn't quite sure but decided to allow it anyway. It wasn't like she had much choice anyway, she could barely move.

"Thank you Jena." Said the professor quietly at her slow nod, and they shifted getting her small frame above the covers. She was freely crying now, the pain was intense. Neither of the adults commented though, and they started with her arms and legs working the cream into the skin, and each muscle. At first she stayed tense. She did not like being touched. But as the ointment did its work, the pain lifted and the gentle rubbing pressure caused each muscle to eased, she began to relax.

"Relax Jena. This will work better if you can relax." Professor Savoy chided gently only realizing how tense the child was when she eased herself a bit. The Mediwitch gently removed the bandages from her shoulders, and the Professor wiped the tears from her face.

"I am the one who is sorry, Jena. I am sorry you have to go through this." The Professor informed her quietly. "The shoulder will be the worst bit." The girl released a long shuddering breath and nodded again. He caught the Mediwitch's eye, hoping by his look that he could communicate that the wanted the child to not be in such pain, that if there were more pain potion or sleeping draught she could have, that would be better.

"Unfortunately, we have to stick with the topicals, Professor Savoy." informed the Mediwitch with regret. "She is in the middle of the pain potion now, and more would be dangerous for one so small. And it can't be mixed with the sleeping draughts, I am afraid."

"I understand." he replied to the Mediwitch. "Jena, we will do this as quickly as we can, but it's going to hurt."

As they lifted the small child between them they saw the tears start anew and her face contort in pain, but other than a sharply indrawn breath, the child didn't make a sound. He they moved quickly, switching the liniment for a different healing ointment, and quickly rubbing it deeply into the raw spots and gently into the bruised tissue.

"I think the both of us working on this is causing part of the discomfort, because she has to keep the shoulders and neck tense. Let's try something different." said Professor Savoy, and slowly and gently drew the child until her upper body was nestled against his chest. "Relax against me, Jena and keep your muscles relaxed. His strong hands gently glided in circular motions under her armpits up over her shoulder blade, continuing to treat the wounds.

Jena was in a panic. She was laying on her Professor's shoulder, face turned to the side. She smelled pine and smokiness, something earthy. As the ointment did its work the sharp pain receded only to be replaced with a dull deep ache. The tears were soaking the professor's cloak and she was mortified. He was also getting liniment on it.

"I'm sorry." she gasped out miserably.

"It's ok Jena, the cloak will launder." he chided gently. He could tell she was tense and upset, and her trembling was nearly constant.

"Jena, just trust me for a bit. I promise we will get through this." he murmured reassuringly to the child.

Trust? Trust him. How? Jena's mind was a mess. Thoughts and feelings whirled in a fantastic progression that she had no control over. Trust. She couldn't, but nor could she continue the energy to stay wary. She simply gave up and with a nod to herself, complete relaxed against the professor's shoulder, and clutched at his robe to keep her balance there. She closed her eyes.

He felt the child suddenly go limp, and for a moment thought she might have lost consciousness. But realizing her eyes were still open, but they had an odd distant look that worried him. But she went completely limp and closed her eyes. He continued his ministrations, only speaking to her when he needed to move, and she said nothing also. He and the Mediwitch quickly got her shoulders rebandaged, and her back in the bed where she collapsed, completely spent. Darkness consumed her almost before the Professor murmured a quiet 'goodnight' to her and swept the hair from her face gently. She embraced the darkness and tried not to think.

The next day, she came too slowly, and sensed brightness beyond her eyes. She opened them slowly, and again she saw the Professor seated in the chair, this time with a cup of tea.

"You are awake again. How do you feel?"

Her shoulders still ached, and her head hurt, but nothing was as bad as before.

"Better." She replied quietly, looking about. He again gave her water, but with little conversation, moving deliberately. "It's expected for you to be here for a week, but I am glad to see that the pain is a bit less. We need to apply the ointment again, or I can do it myself?" The child's eyes met his in brokenness and pain and she did not reply. His heart ached for her, and all he wanted to do is to take that look from her eyes.

"Jena, please trust me. We will get through this, and we will make it right." He replied quietly. She met his eyes searching for something, and he saw something change in her eyes. Was it determination? Resignation? He wasn't sure, but with her slow nod, he released his breath in sigh that he didn't know he had been holding. She allowed the touch, and he got her sat up and situated, and immediately relaxed into her professor's body. She seemed to draw some comfort from the contact but he still moved quickly. Just as he was finishing the rebandaging, the Mediwitch approached

"She's asleep." She said quietly, incredulous at the thought of the child going through such a painful ordeal.

He nodded, but did not reply in fear of waking the young one. The Mediwitch waved her wand and suddenly the child was in a fresh night dress and the sheets were clean, and he quickly settled the sleeping child into bed.

They fell into a routine of sorts. The child breakfasted with the professor. She ate sparingly and seldom said much during the meal, and he would then apply the healing salves and rebandage her wounds. She would huddle against him, silent, sometimes she trembled, but more than not just remained close but still. He held her for a few minutes, until her breathing evened out again, and then resettled her. He would then leave and teach his morning classes, and come back at lunch and wake her. Again, she picked at her food, but did try to eat. The Mediwitch would give her potions and bade her to rest; he would teach his afternoon classes. He would come back and sit with her. She slept mostly, but would occasionally read or study and he would tuck her in when she fell asleep again. They spoke very little. It was the fourth day that things changed.

It was dinner time, and the Mediwitch came with her dinner tray.

"Sybill is finally returning to her rooms. She seems much improved." she informed Professor Savoy as she ran her diagnostic tests on the girl. She was healing slowly, much more slowly than Mediwitch was comfortable with, but she was healing. "She will come out through that door, and be in the infirmary a few minutes." The Mediwitch explained. The girl got very anxiously when adults showed up unexpectedly, so mostly it was for the girl's benefit. However, the Headmistress had been adamant that Sybill get introduced to the child. As fearful as the girl was, the Mediwitch didn't' want to do so. But the Headmistress insisted she would be around these adults anyway, that the girl had to let go of her fear.

"I am glad to hear she is well." replied Professor Savoy, as he studied the girl and the girl studied the hands in her lap.

The girl watched surreptitiously as the woman came from one of the private rooms, her owl like eyes blinking blankly beyond much too large glasses. She had caught glimpses of the woman from time to time over her infirmary stay, but the woman just seemed odd. She made her way to the bedside, and sat in the overstuffed chair and studied the girl.

"Professor Trelawney, Jena Kearns. Ms. Kearns, this is Professor Trelawney." introduced Professor Savoy, carefully keeping his voice neutral.

"So, this dear child, this is the one with the sight? I have seen her coming for ages naturally, but oh! Dreadful, dreadful are the lives of those who are of the visions. You can't possibly know yet what a burden the sight is, child. But for you, who are going to suffer such tragedies. I see darkness, and death, and you child are at the very core!" the woman gasped, her voice falling to a hissing whisper toward the end.

The child's head snapped up and her eyes first widened in fear, and then narrowed, in that piercing way, Professor Savoy noted. Her hands began to tremble.

"I know you. You were the rosy one." The child muttered to herself quietly, but only Professor Savoy heard with only years of spying let him hear it. The child looked down again.

Jena wanted this woman to leave. Somehow, she knew it had been wrong to 'touch' this woman in her dream, or whatever had happened in the cabinet. She sensed many things from this woman. Fear. Insecurity. Excitement. But the woman felt wrong in some way. Tainted, or not tainted, but not quite right. Broken somehow. It made Jena uncomfortable, and she didn't know what to do.

"The skill is not very strong in her, I say, but the skill is in so few she will have to be trained. She will need to see me daily at the very least, and she will have to spend long hours in meditation."

Professor Savoy decided the snort he let out would do nothing to establish that he thought she were a fraud in his past life too, because "Professor Savoy" simply knew she was a fraud _now_.

"Oh, I think not. I will of course enroll her in your class. Next term. She was lacking the basic skills and is behind her classmates. Divination is such a delicate skill, Sybill, surely it would benefit from some maturity." He said, trying to keep his visage innocent and free of sarcasm. "However, I would have you know that Ms. Kearns is an empath, and we have no one on staff with experience with that skill. Doesn't that fall in your area, my dear?"

"Empathy?" Her big owlish eyes blinked slowly. "Well, yes, that fall under the Divine arts…" the woman trailed off uncertainly.

"Splendid. Then I can count on you to do some research on training and perhaps we can meet in a month and figure out how to help Ms. Kearns?" he suggested quietly.

Jena's head snapped up again at this, and gave him a piercing gaze but she looked away quickly.

"I have many obligations, and the stars are about to align in Saturn which means unpredictability of course, but… 

"But I am sure that you can make time for Ms. Kearns in the future, and plan that out with Professor Savoy later. Ms. Kearns needs to rest." Stated the Mediwitch firmly. She was met briefly by the eyes of the girl which seemed grateful before they glanced fearfully at the professor. The Matron hadn't known him very long but could tell by the set of his mouth he was irritated at being dissuaded from pushing Sybill, but really, the child had been sitting up to long with the shoulders unsupported. She went to her to gently lay her back. She was relieved when the child didn't flinch this time. She quickly turned to Sybill who watched the procedure.

"Now Sybill, how about I take you back to your tower?" she said, and but the Mediwitch had to hide a smile as Professor Savoy immediately took the chair that Sybill vacated, and started to reassure the girl in a low voice.

"No one is upset with you Jena, and you will get on with Sybill fine. She is a Seer, and if you do have that ability, she will be able to help you understand it." He said quietly, but paused then. He knew it was dangerous not to be completely honest with the girl, and how fragile her trust was likely to be after the way she had been raised, but what he needed to say didn't need to be said in front of either of the two women who were slowly taking their leave. He glanced there way meaningfully.

Now, the child watched somewhat nervously as the strange woman made her shuffling way across the infirmary room, accompanied by the Mediwitch. Just before you exited the girl sensed a 'tugging' at her magic, in her head, and not sure what that meant she 'pushed' like she did when she was trying to block out someone near her. Normally, that did very little save make things quieter, but this time was different. Her vision grayed and then went black, and she thought she was passing out. But then she saw in her mind's eye a rosy glow again wavering unsteadily and her own magic flare from her, but how she knew what she was seeing was her or her magic, she did not know, and then the rosy glow burned bright crimson, like a flare out of the woman's core, and knew she woman was broken, but something in this time and space had bridged that was broken and touched this woman's very core.

The woman became rigid her eyes rolled in her head, and a keening wail was torn from her throat. Then she began to speak.

"_The Chosen one has triumphed, the cycle starts anew._

_Many paths before those who see, the course not set in stone; the one who chooses cast her lot. Once cast it cannot be undone, there all wizard kind will go._

_The time for choosing is upon us. Snow falls on that fated Ides. The last of two houses; both fall into darkness, the little bird flees._

_She walks a dangerous path, alone. It leads to light and everything, it leads to darkness, it leads to infinity; it leads to nothing. Again she alone will choose._

_She alone can vanquish the conquerors, and save the Haven. But that will not be her final test._

_She alone will complete the circle. She alone can master time._

_Leave her alone at your peril. Abandon her and destroy us all!_

_She is The Seer. She will Choose. Heed her!_

"Bugger. Not another bloody prophecy!" muttered Professor Savoy, as he watched the woman collapse slowly to the infirmary floor.


	19. Chapter 19  Goodnight Eugene

Disclaimer: I think you are all smart enough to figure out that I am not JK Rowling – but I will add this for a disclaimer for the dumb and/or clever lawyers. Everything in here belongs to her in some form or other, I suppose. Well, not my original character. She really can't take credit for the 'sacrifice' theme either… that's rather Biblical, after all, and rather C.S. Lewis-esque. Hmmm… Harry is even a Lion…

For the folks following this story closely – thank you for your concern. I am fine – my father, however is not – and instead of spending a relaxing weekend writing… well, life got in the way. All troubles aside – this is all a part of life. I don't offer it as an excuse – I am passionate about my story and my writing and even if not posting am writing (albeit more slowely, and with less time to edit, which I am not very good at, anyway). I will continue to try to stay on the weekly schedule as well – but may go to every 2 weeks for a bit. This chapter was difficult for me – the next chapter is already in the editing stage, so hopefully we are back on track for our weekly timeline.

On with the story…

~~Ltd.~~

Jena regained awareness slowly. The first thing she was aware of was smell. Smoke, pine, an acrid herbal, maybe thyme? Somehow the smell was soothing in some way she didn't quite get. She was warm, huddled in on herself, arms wrapped securely around her middle, legs drawn up. She rested against something solid and warm. And alive, she realized, jerking with a start.

"Jena, it's alright. You are perfectly safe, and I will help you. Please calm down. Take deep breaths." instructed Professor Savoy. He watched the small girl apprehensively; she had collapsed back against her pillows just as Sybill had collapsed on the floor, and had cried out unintelligibly in an anguished voice. He had turned quickly to the girl when she had cried out, and then had curled in on herself, like a little potato bug, and had begun a quiet keening. The Mediwitch was entirely consumed with enervating her adult patient. Professor Savoy was completely at a loss. The child had been non-responsive to his voice. He had finally slid onto the edge of her bed and scooped her up into an awkward embrace. That had not made anything worse, but it hadn't made anything better either. He started murmuring nonsensical reassurances to her; the keening had stopped, maybe ten minutes ago. The Mediwitch was busily pouring potions down the Seer's throat. It wasn't until he felt the small girl bury her head further into his robes that he realized she had stopped her keening. She still trembled, and her tense body had not eased, but she had stopped keening. That was something, he supposed.

"Holding up Professor?" inquired the Medi-witch quietly from across the room. "As soon as Sybill is settled, I will run a diagnostic on their magic. I don't believe their agitation being synchronic is mere serendipity."

The professor gave a quiet 'harrumph' and shifted the girl more into his lap. He started to make a gentle rocking motion as he whispered to her. She unclenched her arms from her torso. He hoped because she was calming, and not because her injuries made that posture painful. He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that before the Mediwitch came with a potion.

"Dreamless sleep?" he inquired quietly, but the Matron shook her head.

"Knocking her out if she is in a trance will simply save us from experiencing her discomfort. What we need is to make her feel safe. She is just frightened."

"A trance. She is a seer then?"

"I don't know what she is, frankly. It's a different state of consciousness. Trance, shock, breakdown – I can't be sure. What we need to do is bring it down a notch, or twelve, and try to help her through what she is feeling. So, calming draught?"

"Sounds lovely." replied the professor dryly.

"And for Jena?" snarked the Mediwitch but with a wink went off to get the potion.

"I must thank you for the potions, Professor Savoy. Without these, I don't know what we would be doing for Jena right now." The Mediwitch said as she returned.

"Truly, I find it relaxing. It makes me think of my mother." He replied, taking the potion from the Mediwitch. Well the first part was true.

Professor Savoy finally managed to nestle the child so she was lying back against his chest. He nodded thanks at the Mediwitch for the calming draught, and held it to the child lips. He helped her drink it, which she did without question. After several minutes the Professor noted her even breathing and muscles relaxing. She had fallen completely asleep.

"Let me run the diagnostic."

"She is magically drained again." The Mediwitch sighed. "This is going to be another setback in her recovery."

"Curious. She was drained when we found her too; and Sybill fainted during dinner just before. Do you think it's all related?" he stated unsurely. The divination arts had never been his domain.

"I think it's likely, but I think we will have to get that information from Jena." Replied the Mediwitch quietly. "She must have been exhausted. I think the calming draught has put her to sleep."

Professor Savoy sighed. "I will sit up with her I think. Thank you Madam; I know this is difficult."

The Mediwitch approached a soft smile on her face. "Well, she certainly seems to trust you."

"I am sure it's no more than anyone else." said Professor Savoy dismissively, keeping his voice low.

"Have you seen me try to touch that child?" replied the Mediwitch incredulously. "I guarantee you I would have been forced to spell this medicine into her stomach."

Professor Savoy winced. "That's not such a good idea on a child this small. The target is very small."

"Precisely. But neither is having her thrash or aspirate because she is frightened of me." she replied with a sigh. She gave the Professor a soft smile. "It is good to know you care so much for your charges."

"I am simply doing my duty." he replied keeping his face carefully neutral.

"Certainly." she said, but her tone indicated it was anything but believable. "Let me run a few more tests on her magic." The Mediwitch performed a complex series of wand movements while quietly incanting a string of Latin phrases. When she stopped, she watched colored whorls encircle the child, and her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Well, in addition to being depleted, her magic has a very odd signature to it; I really haven't seen anything like it. It's like her magical core is enormous, far larger than it should be, but her own magic just trickles in slowly, instead of refilling in a wave, like most. Odd. At this rate, she hand only recovered about 25% of her magical core before the incident with Professor Trelawney. Now, it's almost completely empty again."

"What might cause this?" inquired the professor, as he gently shifted his sleeping charge who had begun to whimper faintly. His hand on the side of her head brought silence. He couldn't quite see her face, but was consternated at the thought it brought her comfort.

"She grows too dependent on me. We need to find her a true guardian." he informed the Mediwitch quietly, as he gently moved her hair back from her face.

"I had thought that you had made yourself guardian?" inquired the Mediwitch.

"Only while she is here at the school, Madame Pomfrey. I assure you I am not parenting material." he replied dryly.

"Professor, we are going to be working very closely together for some time. I think it's high time you start calling me Poppy. For the record, you do look like parenting material."

He looked up at the Mediwitch in surprise. It had been years before Poppy had offered her first name to him in his previous incarnation. Now, after just a few months in his current role, she already had. Was he so much different in his new persona? Realizing he had been quiet for far too long he quickly occluded his confusing thoughts for examination later.

"Of course. An honor. Please call me Eugene." he replied. He smiled at the woman; he liked being able to smile, but if felt strange. He hoped his voice didn't sound as shy as the interchange had made him feel.

"I must be careful not to allow the child to think that. She has had enough people disappoint her horribly in her short life; I don't want her to do that either."

"The child is going to have a hard time finding a guardian. She is already 11, has runes marking her as being amongst the Deatheaters, has a history of abuse which will generally mean emotional needs, and now she has medical and magical health problems. We will need to stay right on those or they might become chronic." the Mediwitch said seriously. "The deeper scans were telling."

"Oh?" enquired the Professor.

"She has been physically abused or neglected her whole life." the Mediwitch informed him sadly. "As horrible as her father likely is, it is apparent that his one-off behavior is better than previously. It may be why she hasn't complained about it."

"Has Wizarding Family Services contacted you to see about her evaluation?" he asked, his brows drawing together in concern.

"Yes. They will interview her a week from Sunday."

"Nearly three months to conduct an initial interview? Surely, that won't give them time to find her a guardian before the Yule time break." stated Professor Savoy incredulously.

"Likely they aren't worried about that. They know she is safe at school, and that we allow our young charges to stay over the holiday if needed." replied the Mediwitch. "Do you believe she is a Seer?"

"Do I believe that she is the chosen one from the new Prophesy? Is that the question you really want to ask?" said the Professor seriously. "I don't think what happened to Professor Trelawney happening at the same time as Jena's upset is coincidence. IN fact, since we found Jena magically depleted shortly after Professor Trelawney's first collapse, I can hardly think that it's coincidence.

"Exactly what I was thinking. The child seemed fearful of her."

"Her body language seemed to indicate some familiarity with her as well, but I was certain they never met. We will see what the child can tell us when she wakes." replied the professor. He felt eyes on him and looked up to find the Mediwitch studying him seriously.

"Professor Trelawney won't be of much use to us." informed the Matron. "She never remembers anything after her trances. You had better go on and get some dinner. I don't think Jena will wake for a few hours."

"I will sit with her. I want to be here when she wakes."

"Because you don't want her to get too attached to you?" asked the Mediwitch dryly.

"She will be most open and vulnerable as soon as she wakes. I will be able to get the best information out of her."

"How very Slytherin of you. Be certain that you are only deceiving her."

"Goodnight, Eugene." said the Mediwitch with a sardonic smile, and made her way to her office.


	20. Chapter 20 Misunderstandings

Professor Savoy had made the decision to wait a few days before approaching the child and speaking to her about her ordeal. She had been so shaken, fearful and reserved. She spoke rarely, although she answered questions. She seemed reluctant to make eye contact and moved away from sudden movements. It was easy to see that she became hyper-vigilant when more than one adult was in the room. He had been hoping to have the caseworker from the Ministry present for the conversation as well. Speaking with her about such trauma was going to lead to more emotional needs from the child. He wanted to see those needs filled by an adult who cared for the child, but realizing if he himself continued to fill that void, it would only cause the child more heartache, he refrained.

The 'episode' with Trelawney that day seemed to take that decision away from him. For her own safety, he had to get to the bottom of what was happening with her. Besides, it didn't sit well with him that it had been nearly a week since this whole thing began and the culprits had yet to come forward.

It was just before dinner time when the child's eyes finally fluttered open. Professor Savoy had settled her comfortably into the bed when she had fallen into a deep slumber. He came up from the chair he was watching her from to the side of the bed. Placing her small hand in his, he gently touched the side of her face to gain her attention.

"Jena, can you hear me?"

Jena was slow to respond, and finally looked at her professor. Slow to realize that he expected a response, she finally nodded once.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Professor Savoy enquired softly.

Tears welled in the child's eyes, but didn't fall. She shook her head and then allowed her eyes to fall to her hands.

"A verbal answer, if you please."

The child began to tremble but remained silent.

"Jena, I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what has happened so that I can help you."

Jena didn't want to look up. She could feel concern in her professor, but also frustration and fear. She wasn't sure what he wanted or why. She hurt. Not as badly as she had in the past few days, but the dull ache in her shoulders was ever-present, but being totally shadowed by the pounding in her head. Her stomach turned. She was afraid.

He watched the child as well as he could with her face averted, but the child didn't speak. He slowly reached toward the child's face, and tipped her chin up. He saw pain and desperation in the child's eyes.

"Child, are you in pain?"

"I am fine, Sir." she replied quietly when she realized he wasn't going to let her look away.

"I will not repeat myself about lying, Ms. Kearns." he said sternly, but kept his voice soft and low. "If you are in pain, I expect you to tell me, just like any of my other Slytherins."

The child remained silent.

"Jena, I am going to ask you simple questions. Please, just even short answers. It's the only way I can help you."

"I don't understand." the child replied quietly.

"I want to help you. What is there not to understand?"

"That. Just that, sir. I don't understand. I am sorry I lied, but I don't know what you want me to say."

"Jena, I just want you to answer honestly. You aren't in any trouble." he reassured the girl.

"I didn't lie about studying." she suddenly blurted. "But I should have told you Austin doesn't want me to study with him any more. I am sorry." the girl said in a small voice. "Please sir, I tried to tell you. Don't send me home."

Now it was the professor's turn to look at the child in confusion.

"Mr. Murphy is quite concerned about you. He has checked in with me every day. The only reason that he hasn't been to the infirmary is that I am insisting you are left alone so you get as much rest as possible. I don't think I quite understand what your concerns are alluding to in Regards to Mr. Murphy. Why do you think we would want to send you home?"

Jena closed her eyes against the burning of her tears, and to try and rein in the frustration. There it was, wasn't it? He wanted her to explain why she should go home. She was going home. That was to be her punishment - not only going home, but the whole explaining why she deserved it bit, too. Something terrible burned deep in the pit of her stomach. Humiliation, pain, anger, worthlessness. She wanted to stay! It was hopeless.

Professor Savoy watched as his young charge's breathing increased and she shut her eyes against her tears, but still with eyes closed she had start to weep silently.

"Jena, let's just start at the beginning, shall we? Nothing is going to look as bad as it does right now once we really look at it. It's going to be alright. Let's start with Halloween day."

The child gave a definitive shake of her head in response to the statement, and did not open her eyes.

He watched the child closely. She was frightened, that was certain, and frustrated. Frustrated, he could understand. But she was in the infirmary, with just him, wasn't she? Was she afraid of getting in trouble for some reason? Had she done something wrong? Professor Savoy certainly didn't think so, but if the child thought so. Maybe she still thought she was going to be sent home?

"Jena. Answer me. Why do you think you are going home?" he asked, following up on his hunch.

Jena drew a deep breath and released it slowly. She had trusted Professor Savoy, and that had been a mistake. She was worthless, like everyone before him had ever told her, and a burden. She was not capable of being like other children. It hurt. She had tried so hard, but he hadn't hit her yet, and that was something. She would tell him what he wanted her to say, and maybe he would let her alone for a bit to rest before she went back to her father. She shuddered at being back with her father with her shoulders still so tore up. How would she work? Better not to think of that now. She drew a deep breath and began her punishment.

"I am going home because I lied. When you asked me about my tutoring, I told you I had tried to get Austin to help me. I asked him to help more and answer my questions before my tests when he said that I didn't have to do the tutoring, but I didn't specifically ask him to do it anyway. He was frustrated and doesn't want to spend any time with me. I should have never considered myself his friend, and because I was dumb and did, I messed up my tutoring. I did what you told me to, and asked him for help, but I didn't tell him that I wanted to do my tutoring. I didn't do anything right because I am useless. I am going home because even though you tried to make me better, I am still useless." She drew another deep breath, and wracked her brain to make sure she didn't miss any reasons. She didn't want this to take any longer than it had to, or for the Professor to say these things about her. Somehow, she knew it would hurt worse if the Professor said these things. It hurt badly enough for her to know that he already believed them.

Professor Savoy was dumbfounded. He didn't want to interrupt the child as he could seen how difficult was for her to say these things, but he had been shocked to hear what was going through the child's mind, horrified that these were the things the child actually believed, and that he had allowed her to sit with him all week, this being what was brewing in the broken look in her eyes. Here, he had thought all along it was just the traumatic event. How very wrong he was indeed. He was surprised that she was willing to share this information. Why was the child willing to open up so suddenly? The thoughts raced through his mind as he struggled to think of how he should respond. Before he could arrive at a decision, the child started to speak again.

"I am also going home because I am a burden. I do dumb things like let those students grab me. If I had been aware of my surroundings, I wouldn't have been put into the cupboard. And now I have been a week in the infirmary and need even more potions. I am worse than worthless. I am a burden. Everyone has to help me because I don't know my letters, reading or maths, and it's not fair to them either to work so much just because I am dumb. For what it's worth, Professor, I am sorry that you tried and… well, I knew I was worthless, and should have been honest with you. I am sorry." she said, voice falling of to a forced whisper at the very end.

"Oh child. You really believe all that, don't you?" Professor Savoy asked her sadly. The child simply averted her eyes.

Now it was out, Jena was relieved. The work at the school had been hard, to be sure, but she was used to that. But pretending that she was worth as much as the other students - that she was a student, some one to be taught and cared about, to try so hard to be worthy of that had been absolutely exhausting. She released a slow shuddering breath, and tried to relax her body. The professor watched as what appeared to be absolute defeat crossed her face. He couldn't stand it. He scooped the child gently out of the bed and leaned her into his side so he was cradling most of her weight against him, much like he did when he was treating her shoulder injuries and held her. He solidly pushed the thought out of his awareness that he wasn't quite sure who he was comforting with his actions; himself or the child.

"Jena, I want you to listen to me." He said sternly, but with steel in his voice. "You have a few things mixed up, and part of that is my fault and I am sorry." He froze as those words slipped through his lips. He had never apologized so easily before. Why now, and why to this child? The girl was shaking like a leaf though, and now wasn't the time to examine his own emotional well being.

"When you came to me on Sahmain, I should have listened to you. Austin should have listened to you. People are human, Jena and they get tired and say thing that they wouldn't ordinarily. I didn't respond correctly to you. I should have known you weren't lying. I know you think you lied because you didn't try to get me to understand, but you needn't try harder to get others to hear your requests, nor are you responsible for preventing adults from jumping to conclusions. The only lie you have told is that you are fine, and you most certainly are not. "he said quietly.

"You are not dumb, stupid or unintelligent. You have done more schooling in 2 months than anyone thought possible. You have gone from not being able to read or write to being able to decipher some of your grade level school books without help, able to turn in some of your schoolwork and even doing some of your work untutored. That is years worth of learning in just a couple of months, Jena. You aren't worthless or useless either. As for Mr. Murphy - he really is your friend, and you are worthy of friends. You are not a burden, you are not worthless, and you deserve the care and help you are getting." he sighed. The child had not responded. "You are not going to be sent home Jena. I am glad you told me what you did, but why did you?"

Jena was completely confused. "But you asked me why I was going to be sent home? I don't understand."

"So you thought since I was asking you why you were going to be sent home, that you were going home and I wanted you to explain it to me. Is that right, Jena?" He felt more than saw the child nod as she leaned against him. "Why did you think I wanted you to explain it?"

"Being sent home is punishment. It thought you wanted to hear that I knew I deserved my punishment. I don't understand."

"Jena, why would you deserve punishment?"

"I lied. You told me I lied."

"If I told you the sky is orange, would you believe that too?"

"Sir?"

"You can see the sky. What color is it?"

"Blue." the child replied hesitantly.

"No, it's orange." He replied, with just a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Sir?" her small uncertain voice did strange things to his insides. He felt a possessive protectiveness for this girl wash over him.

"Jena, if you know you are telling the truth, you aren't a liar." he stated firmly.

"But I have lied, and stolen, and..."

"Jena, we all make mistakes. Everyone lies. Sometimes we have to do bad things to survive. You survived, hear me? Surviving isn't a crime." He stated forcefully. She fell silent once again, and flinched slightly as the harsh tone. "You survive Jena, if nothing else I want you to do that." he told her sternly.

"You deserve to be taken care of. You deserve food and shelter. You deserve to have others care about you." he repeated, this time a bit more quietly. But he felt it as the child slowly shook her head.

"I don't deserve it. I haven't earned it." she stated unsurely. "That's why I need to get caught up with my school work, you said so, so I can work." She replied, confusion still clearly evident in her quiet voice. You will see, maybe I can be worth the effort."

"Child, you are already worth the effort as you put it. "We need you to work because we are already giving so much schooling away. If we give away too much, then we get in trouble, people think we are doing too much for free. If I had my way, you wouldn't have to work, child. Do you understand?"

The child looked up into his face, the piercing gaze back again. Professor Savoy realized that meant she was reading him, his emotions. She obviously misplaced the intention of such emotions. Maybe this would be the time to address that.

"You were looking at me differently, Jena. What did you see?" he asked quietly.

"I didn't see anything." replied the child quietly. "You weren't lying, that's all."

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"You are angry, and sad. Focused, curious. But not scared, and not well, feeling like you are lying."

"Why do you think I am angry?" he asked, somewhat puzzled. He hadn't even realized he was angry until the child said something.

"Because I am wasting more of your time. Because I am upset."

"Jena, listen carefully. Your father, and the other adults in your life, they were the ones that were different. Yes, I am angry. I am angry at the people who treated you so poorly that you don't think you are worthy of care. I am angry at that your first assumption as to why I am angry is that it somehow your fault that you are a waste of time. I am not saying in the past you were wrong about the impetus for the adults around you and their emotions. But you are wrong now, and your assumption that this will be the same is leading to a lot of your fear. I need you to trust me when I tell you something. I will have feelings, and they may not match what I am saying, but it is very dangerous to assume that you know why for certain. Why do you think I am sad, focused or curious?

"I am not sure why you are sad sir. Perhaps because I am taking up your time, and you could be doing something better."

"I am sad because you believe these things about yourself, that you don't have anyone telling you that you are wrong, and that anything I could have done would make you believe that I thought any of those things. I am focused because I need to understand you, how your gift works, and what you are going though so I can help you. And I am curious because it's different, something I haven't seen before. And that's one of the reasons I might not get things right. I don't know what the right thing to do for you is always, Jena, but I am going to try to be a good teacher and guardian while you are here with me at school." He watched as the child's eyes widened in surprise, but that suspicion and uncertainty quickly entered into her face. "You need to trust what I tell you is the truth Jena, and begin to understand your gift. I am seldom upset or angry for the reason you think."

"I'll try, sir." the child replied after several moments. Her shaking was less, but not gone, and her voice was still tremulous.

"Come here, child." the Professor said, and grabbed an extra blanket that was folded across the foot of the bed. He draped it carefully over the child's shoulder, wrapping it securely around her before pressing her back into his side. He wandlessly summoned a flannel from the table, and gently wiped the tears from the child's face. "I want you to stay warm while we are talking. I haven't spoken to you about what happened before this because I wanted you to rest and recover, but I need to know how you ended up in the armoire."

"I wasn't watching where I was going. I am sorry." said the child quietly looking down again, and resting her head against him. Something fluttered in his stomach again at the subconscious show of trust.

"Child, you didn't walk into an armoire. You said something about someone grabbing you?"

"Yes. I shouldn't have let them get to me." she replied, cheeks coloring in shame.

"We shouldn't have students in school that want to 'get to you', as you put it, either. Did you recognize them?"

The child continued to tremble, and shook her head.

"Jena, if I told you there was a way I could look into your mind and see what you wanted me to see, would that make this easier or worse?" he asked tiredly. Too many days with too many responsibilities and little sleep were catching up with the professor.

The child looked up into his face, grey eyes red rimmed but face suddenly grim. The child didn't respond.

"If I promise you are in no trouble and I won't ever expel you from this school no matter what I find there, will you let me look?"

The child pressed her lips together in a thin line as she silently contemplated him. Her eyes were glassy with tears, and her chin began to quiver. But still she nodded sharply once. Before the girl could change her mind, he delved in.

Much to his relief, the memory he was after was right on the surface, as if the child had actually trained to work with a legilimens. He didn't get a clear image of all 4 boys present, but he certainly was sure of the Gryffindor red and gold ties on those children's' necks. It was enough go get them to confess, he was sure of it. So little time had passed that he decided to carefully delve a little deeper into the girls mind. He knew he was skilled enough for the girl not to realize. He knew there was a different life for this child before living with her father. He suspected abuse and he wanted to know how to help the child. He pushed a little further.

He hit a wall.

The child's gifts seemed to center on mind magic. She was a natural occulmens. And there was trauma. Trauma so deep and so horrific that she had a wall built around it that not even she could enter. The child had forced herself to forget.

What is the child forcing herself to forget, he wondered? But he didn't stop there. He went through the memory of the conversation with Austin, himself and her time in the infirmary. He saw glimpses of the darkness, and then of a light… her memories of what appeared to be a dream or hallucination of some sort. And then, there were the memories her being discovered, and her memories of being here in the infirmary. Six days the child had believed that this was all her fault; that somehow, he was waiting for her to get well so he could punish her. No wonder the child had eaten and spoke so little! Her memories clearly showed that she still believed had done something wrong and would be punished. He withdrew from her mind as gently as he could. He realized that the child was actively keeping her mind blank while he looked. She was occluding! He "pushed" again at the center of where her thoughts were, only to be swept into a wave of pain and nausea. Uncertain if the mind connection he had created had caused her distress; he quickly withdrew from her mind as gently as he could, and summoned a pail. The child was about to be sick.


	21. Chapter 21  On the Case

Disclaimer: Just borrowing a few good characters, an awesome idea and a bit of time… obviously I am not Ms. Rowling, and am not making any money. If anyone ever thinks I am a threat to her fortune or good name… please let someone know – like an agent. Thank you.

Readers: As warned… my updates will be slow, likely through the end of the year. I have two family health issues that I am managing, just got back from a hiking trip, just about to go on a long vacation (17 days in Italy!) and work is amazingly difficult right now.

I am on the final proof for my other two story's next chapters – they will post in September, too, but that may be all the updates I log for September. Then we have the holiday's coming… so monthly postings through the end of the year (Oct., Nov., Dec.,) until I can get back on schedule! You are warned! (Oh, and your patience is very much appreciated).

Professor Savoy stormed out of the infirmary. The child had showed him her attackers – he recognized at least one. After seeing her memories from the past week, he was furious. Furious at himself for his albeit short lapse in judgment when talking with the girl on Halloween, and furious with himself for spending a week in the infirmary when the child was in emotional distress and no realizing it. He had been a spy for 20 years, and he couldn't even read one small, underfed, needy child? What in Merlin's name was wrong with him? He was not the type to care, and yet he had held this child while she cried, stayed with her as she vomited after he legilimized her, calmed her and put her back to bed. No, he had never became that close to a child in his previous incarnation, and why was he doing so now? Is this the persona he wanted to create for Professor Savoy? Certainly, he had been kinder, gentler – who really wants to be bastard all the time – but this? It would make him weak. And, if he was perfectly honest with himself, he was more furious at himself for caring. He was free – free for the first time in 20 years. He didn't need to bog himself down with more than his professional responsibility for his students. He could make sure she was well and healed, and get her help with her more obscure mind magic abilities, but her emotional needs would have to be worked out for the long term. He wondered who would get custody of the girl? Well, once that was accomplished, she would have the emotional support she needed. He need not get attached to the child. Right now, he was enraged, and his outlet for that rage could be correctly channeled at a pile of Gryffindors, he thought, as he smirked to himself, yes - his favorite target.

"Headmistress."

"Ah-Professor Savoy, to what do I owe the privilege?" she asked tiredly, leaning back in her chair. Professor Savoy noted that Dumbledore's portrait was watching intently, a soft smile on his lips and his eyes twinkling like mad. It heightened his irritation, but he tried to clamp down on that. He even managed to offer the Headmistress a soft smile.

"I realize I haven't stopped by often, but with it being my first year in the position, there is a great deal of class preparation. Should you be pleased enough with my performance, I suspect there will be less next year…"

"Oh, I didn't mean to imply you had been negligent," replied the Headmistress, waving off his concern.

"I just came from the infirmary. Ms. Kearns has shared with me the identity, to the best of her ability, of her attackers."

The Headmistress let out a long sigh. "Right. And?"

"They are Lions, Headmistress, and so I wanted to turn this over to you. She doesn't know their names. One of them is Michael Abbot."

"And if she didn't know their names, how did you come by this information?" asked the Headmistress sternly. Professor Savoy merely raised an eyebrow in sarcasm.

She looked at the man in shock for a moment. "For a minute there, you reminded me of our old potions professor," she stated with a wry chuckle. More to herself she muttered, "I do miss Severus."

Professor Savoy quickly schooled his features. What was wrong with him? How could he be so careless not to act less like his old self?

"Alright, I will help organize a confession. I suppose we need the children's' parents present?" She sighed.

"Ms. Kearns father need not attend." intoned Professor Savoy. It wasn't a question.

"No, I suppose not. Will you attend?"

"Of course, I am her head of house."

"I know it is hardly the child's fault, but a great deal of your time and your other student's time has been taken up with Jena."

"Indeed. However, before this set back, great strides had been made."

"Yes, but we haven't been able to test just how much. Do you believe Sybill's new prophecy is about Jena?"

"It's hard to tell, isn't it? 'The last of two lines' – well, she is the last Kearns for now, but without knowing who her mother is…" he sighed wearily himself. He knew a few ways to quickly find out the girls likely parentage, but all either exposed him in his pervious incantation, or the answer put the child at significant risk. But the Headmistress was correct; the girl had been taking up a great deal of resources. Not that he was resentful, but he was tired.

"Is there any hope of finding out who the mother is, even if she has passed on?" asked the Headmistress.

"I take it you have registered the prophecy then?" asked Professor Savoy carefully, using the subtle change in topic to guide the conversation away, as well as to sound out the Headmistress's willingness to protect his young charge.

"Yes. The Department of Mysteries would like to send an Unmentionable to question the child. I refused as we can't be certain it is her. I hope it isn't." replied the Headmistress regretfully.

"I am glad you refused. Why do you hope the prophecy doesn't refer to the child? I would think knowing the parameters of the prophecy would certainly allow us to be better prepared to face what will come." Replied Professor Savoy mildly.

"The last prophecy was about 2 wars, of which this school was the focal point as our former Headmaster was the head of the Order of Phoenix, of which I am sure you are familiar. I don't want this school the center of another series of conflicts again. In fact, I will do everything in my power to ensure it doesn't become so, prophecy be damned. The welfare of one child will not be placed above that of the whole school. Those days and times are done, and we spent a great deal of time protecting one young man under prophecy. I don't think I have it in me to do that again. The child will not bring danger to this school, Professor."

"Have you thought of where the Haven the prophecy refers to is?" he asked quietly. He had his suspicion that the Headmistress wouldn't be able to keep the prophecy out of Hogwarts.

"I supposed it depends on who the child is, Professor" she replied tiredly.

He contemplated the Headmistress thoughtfully, and inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you for your time, Headmistress." He replied respectfully, sure that was as uncharacteristic for his previous incarnation as he could get. He glanced up at Albus' portrait. While there was still a soft smile, he noticed the old man's eyes were not twinkling nearly so brightly.

"Of course. I will let you know when we have the meeting with the culprits and Ms. Kearns as soon as I get their parents gathered."

"Thank you Headmistress."

He headed back to his dungeons deep in thought. He too, hoped the prophecy didn't apply to the child. But somehow, he doubted it. And the prophecy very clearly said His luck had never been that good, and hers might be the only worse luck he ever encountered.

He needed to speak with his Prefects about the child's return to the dorms.

Jena woke Sunday morning and slowly opened her eyes. She felt curiosity, remorse, frustration, impatience, and something gentler, like kindness… she realized she wasn't alone. She opened her eyes as quickly as she could in the morning infirmary light trying to find out who was there.

"Good morning, Ms. Kearns. I trust you slept well?" a warm voice asked her kindly. Seeing her head of house in a chair near the end of the bed, she relaxed minutely.

"Yes sir." She replied croakily.

"I can see I startled you. I did not mean to do so. I wanted to be here when you woke to let you know that Ms. Pomfrey will be releasing you from the infirmary today. You are healed mostly; your shoulders will take some more time. You will come to my office three times a week for the next month for me to apply the liniment. But before you return to the dorms, the representative from Wearing Family Services will be here to speak to you this morning after breakfast. As such, please get yourself together quickly. Madame Pomfrey has sent for you breakfast to be here within the hour."

She looked at her Head of House. His face gave away none of the emotions she could sense. Was he frustrated and impatient with her? His reddish brown hair was perfectly coiffed, and his clothes, mostly in rich dark tones of brown with dark blue accents complimented his grey blue eyes, making them look more blue than usual. He was probably frustrated and impatient with her already, she thought.

"Yes sir." She replied again, and quickly tried to get out of bed.

Professor Savoy watched the child carefully. Realizing he startled her, she had to have sensed him prior to opening her eyes. He watched her expression carefully through their encounter. The child hid her emotions. Her face was blank, nearly the cold pure-blood mask trained by families in decorum for generations. He sighed. He had missed this with her. She deliberately hides what she is feeling. He caught nervousness, and a quick glance toward him. Likely she was sensing his impatience. The woman from the Ministry was already late.

"I am not impatient with you, Jena. Your case worker is delayed." He explained, reassuring her with a smile. He saw her wince as she managed to shift her body to the edge of the bed. Catching her weight in her shoulders to push herself off to the floor and onto her own feet was painful for her then. He wondered if she could actually do that.

"Wait, Jena. I didn't realize your feet didn't' hit the floor from the side of the bed. Let me help you." He said quietly, prior to approaching the child. She must be the smallest child I have every taught, he thought to himself. He couldn't recall another child's feet not touching. He sat down next to her on her bed and slipped an arm about her waist. He felt her tense, but she didn't flinch.

"Alright, slip off the edge onto your feet, but try not to use your shoulders too much. I will have a hold of you until your legs get used to you standing again, alright?" A tense nod from the child.

"On three… one, two three."

It was obvious the child was still weak. It took almost a full minute before he felt she as secure enough to stand on her own.

"Alright, off to the shower." He instructed, releasing her. "We will have breakfast once you are washed up." She quickly moved to obey the Professor.

He sat their ruminating. The child obviously trusted him, and this was likely to be a difficult conversation with the case worker. Should he stay with her? The child's small stature, quiet, serious disposition, and genuine respectfulness certainly made her one of the more tolerable children he had dealt with, and he felt something about how she had come to trust him and few others, and put her faith in him. Something like pride. However, he didn't want to be tied down to such a commitment. No, he would not stay. The Case worker needed to find her a proper guardian who could be there for her all the time, not just in the school year.

"A knut for your thoughts, Eugene" said the Mediwich as she brought the breakfast tray forward, noticing the man seemed very much self absorbed.

"I am hoping that the Ministry finds a suitable guardian for the child. She has a great deal of emotional healing to do." he said tiredly.

"I have noticed that you have started that process for her, Professor." she said with a soft smile.

"Yes, but she needs a parent, and as I have explained before, I am not suited."

"We will just have to agree to disagree to that, Eugene, but I do understand that taking on a child is quite a commitment, and not one that should be entered in lightly."

"I appreciate your confidence in me, Madam, and you are right, it should not be entered into lightly." Professor Savoy turned as a soft clicking of the door latch let him know his young charge had rejoined them. She was properly assembled in a clean uniform, her hair damp from the shower, but neatly restrained with a bit of string. He thought that perhaps he should purchase her some hair things when he had time to find her a winter robe. Of course it was purely to keep her hair out of her face during potions and defense, for her safety…

"Please join me for breakfast, child." he instructed her, transfiguring the bed to a small table on which Madame Pomfrey placed a tray and grabbed another chair.

Jena quickly seated herself. It was a light meal of porridge and toast with fruit and tea… but her stomach was in absolute knots, and she didn't know if she could eat. She tried to still the trembling in her hand as she reached for the tea.

"Jena, there is nothing to be nervous about." She looked up at the Professor sharply. "Your hand is shaking, and you look tense, it was just a guess. You are indeed the only empath in the room." he said, a small smile softening the sarcasm in his tone.

"Sorry, sir."

"She will ask you some questions, you just must answer the honestly. That's all." He explained.

"What will happen sir?" she asked nervously.

"I don't know. They will talk to you, and look at Madame Pomfrey's records. They may go speak to your father. Then they decide. I would imagine for the winter holiday you will remain at Hogwarts." he explained, "but that is purely speculation at this point."

After a very tiring few minutes of watching the child play with her breakfast, he decided that he would simply insist she eat more at lunch.

"If you are through, Jena?" he asked quietly, vanishing her meal at her nod. "Please wait here, I will see if your case worker has arrived."

When he reached his office, it was to find a young woman, likely in her early twenties, standing outside his door.

"Professor Savoy? Hi, I am so pleased to meet you. I am Marissa Doughtry, the case worker for Ms. Kearns. I am afraid I am terribly rushed, so if I could just go over the paperwork, I can have you sign and file my report."

"Ms. Doughtry, would you like to go to see Jena now, or review the case here?"

"Oh, I hadn't really planned on speaking with Jena." Professor Savoy gaped at the woman, completely shocked. "I already read the file and spoke with her father. Horrible situation, with her father being so ill, but he has sought medical care and will be right as rain by Christmas! Really an unfortunate accident, but this little slip up saved the man's life… these things happen for a reason." She said, nodding in what could only be, Professor Savoy surmised, this young fool's portrayal of a sage expression.

He used the process of opening the door and ushering the woman into his office to try and control his seething anger.

"Perhaps we should start at the beginning, Ms. Doughtry. On suspicion of abuse, you went and saw the abusing parent first, and then aren't going to test the veracity of his statements by speaking to the abused child in question?" he said, trying to keep the bitter sarcasm out of his voice.

"Well, he admitted to injuring the child, clearly, but he says that he has a drinking problem, that was made worse by having his heretofore unknown daughter arrive on his doorstep. He truly regrets having injured her and wishes to repair the situation. It' really quite simple."

"And did you test the truthfulness of his statement by using Verisatum, or some other method?" asked the Professor, not bothering to mask his snide tone.

"Well, there is no reason. Alcoholism is an illness, Professor Savoy, for which there is a treatment. He treats the illness and he becomes a respectable member of society again. We are in the business of saving nuclear families, not destroying them." stated the young lady pompously.

"I see. So, what, given your vast deductive reasoning skills and voluminous hours of investigation, led you to believe that this man was ever a, how did you put it, 'a respectable member of society'?" asked the DADA professor, his voice deceptively soft.

"Well he owns a manor house, you see…"

"So did Tom Marvolo Riddle!" thundered Professor Savoy, giving every appearance of being angry and out of control, but, in reality, he had enough of the chit. He was going to make sure the dimwit did her job, and not endanger one o his snakes.

"You will go up to the infirmary, you will review, in painstaking detail, every injury that our Medi-witch attributed to her father's care, you will ask the child questions, and let me share with you that the child has already admitted to working from dawn to dusk with no food for days on end at the very least – and you will make a full report. If, in your meager excuse for a brain you still deem it appropriate to 'save' this child's 'nuclear family', then I will expect a very detailed plan from you on how you plan keep that child from harm while in her 'respectable' father's care. If so much as one bruise is on that child when she returns to Hogwarts, the least of your problems will be your employment status when I am through with you." The Professor stood up abruptly. "My hospitality for you has ended. You will leave my office at once and attend to the child."

Ms. Dougherty stood just abruptly and even more awkwardly. "There is no reason to be threatening, nor rude, Professor Savoy, I assure you…"

"Nothing about you assures, me," the Dada professor hissed. "And there is certainly reason to be rude, as you so rudely neglected your duties and have done poorly by my one of my charges. And there is no threat. If harm comes to Jena, I will hold you accountable. I will escort you to the infirmary." The man strode brusquely past he sputtering social service worker and held the door open in such as way that brooked no argument. She would go to the infirmary.

Coming Up Next: Jena returns to the snakes, but what will they think of her bullying, and how will the Gryffindors repent? Also, will Jena go to her father for Christmas, and is Savoy ready to find out who her mom is? And what will become of Jena as she enter Trelawny's domain? As the author, I am exhausted just thinking about it!

I wanted to let you know I have a beta now… so some chapter will likely be edited and reposted – she is great and is better at grammar and spelling than I. You should all be thrilled. I also made some character naming mistakes between two draft versions – these will be corrected but for those people who caught on, her is the corretions (yes, I am this bad with people's real names too… ):

The 1st year class are:

Organza Dewitt Parkinson (I incorrectly refer to her by her middle name once. Apologies)

Misha Nott

Martin Dunleavy

Morganna Sarisbury (incorrectly referred to as Jorgenson once)

Eric Jorgenson (and now you know why I made the error with Morganna)

7th Year prefects

Abernathy, who is correctly named through out

Brandlynn (refer to her as Bristol at one point. Oops) Sarisbury

5th year prefects we have met thus far

Adam Malin – Prefect from the train – Gryffindor

Austin Murphy – Prefect mentoring Jena


	22. Chapter 22 Back to the common room

Hello readers:

I am back – and Italy held many, many new sources of inspiration for me! Below is what I wrote in my journal for this story while I was away – hope you like it! No cell or computer, so I hand wrote it out and typed it now that I am back. Wow! It's been a few years. Thanks for your patience!

Disclaimer: Still not Rowling, and Snape and company are still not mine… on with the story…

Jena's thoughts were caught in a loop.

She was going back.

There were no other thoughts in her brain, nothing at all to prepare her for the tumultuous emotions that ran through her;

She was going back to her father, at Christmas break.

The woman – she had insisted that she call her by her given name, Marissa – had asked difficult questions. Did her father hit her when drunk or sober? Did he seem to intend on harming her? Did he, himself eat when she did not?

Trusting her head of house as she had no other before, she had done as he had requested, and answered all of the questions truthfully.

She was going back.

She walked slowly with the professor toward the common room. Face blank, trying desperately not to recall the conversation, but failing miserably.

"So you see, Jena, your Father has really just been sick, and you will be doing him a favor to do the right thing and give him a second chance." Marisa had said in a sweet, but false voice. "He is your family, and you can be a real family! Won't that be brilliant?" the young woman had enthused. The idiot believed it. Really and truly believed it. She sensed so many emotions from the woman. Including those she was most familiar with. Irritation. Impatience.

"What if, when I go back, he changes his mind, and doesn't want m…. Well, doesn't want to be a family?" Jena had asked Marissa hesitantly.

The Professor had fixed her with an oddly knowing look, but she had looked quickly away.

"It's perfectly natural to think that, but when alcoholism is treated, people change Jena. You will see, it will be so much different."

The woman had quickly gathered all her paperwork together then, and left.

And now, here Jena was, she was going back. After Marissa had left, Professor Savoy had tried to comfort her.

"Ms. Kearns, remember what Ms. Dougherty said. She will check on you." Professor Savoy had said. "There is a spell cast to ensure that you are fed, and unharmed. It may not be the picture she was painting, but it will be better than before." Her head of house had explained quietly.

She was going back.

While she believed what her head of house had said might be true, she knew that almost not a single word of what Marissa had said was true.

She was going back. She just might survive it.

She tried not to think or remember. Again.

Professor Savoy was stuck in his own thoughts as well. Professor Savoy was fuming, but trying valiantly to occlude the worst of his temper from his thoughts, knowing the child with him would sense it and it would put her ill at ease, or at least more ill at ease than she already was. He was walking slowly, accommodating her small stature and weakened state. She should not have to rush to keep up with him just now.

Marissa Dougherty was without a doubt, one of the most incompetent imbeciles he had ever had the privilege to insult. A few pushes of undetected legilimency had told him that firstly, the woman believed that her protecting the nuclear family was some sort of higher calling. Secondly, there was actually so few placements, especially not for rune-bearing semi-orphans of ex-Deatheaters. As much as he faulted Ms. Dougherty, in reality, he was angry at his own hypocrisy. The Wizarding Family Services had no place for the child, and a solution had presented itself… Lord Kearns had wanted to keep custody of the child. The man had agreed to a monitoring plan for the child's care, and meeting her certain, basic needs…

The professor pushed back fear and dread from his mind. If he could do nothing else right now, he could be calm for the child. He could tell by the stiff way she held herself as they made their way as quickly as the child's stiff carriage would manage to the common room that the child had enough fear, dread and misery to deal with. She certainly didn't need his.

Jena continued to walk from the infirmary with her head of house to the common room. After the disheartening interview with Wizarding family services rep, she couldn't seem to find the capacity to worry about her usual reception of taunts. She flinched slightly when she felt Professor Savoy laid his hand gently on her shoulder, in seeming reassurance. Perhaps he could sense the jumbled nature of her thoughts? She reached her senses out gently. Concern, warmth, disappointment. With her? With what? Irritation. Impatience. Again, with those emotions, why did she always inspire them? Why she engendered those emotions in almost every adult around her, she wondered desperately. No matter how inconspicuously she tried to keep herself, how little she tried to ask for, how little time or resources she consumed, there was always an adult around her who was irritated and impatient. Merlin, she really was a worthless waste of time. Why couldn't she just for once have her presence put someone at peace, at ease? Why couldn't she too share a moment of calm connectedness as she had sensed with the families of the children getting on the train at platform, 9 3/4s? She could not, did not inspire this in others. She had been told she was unworthy of it.

Without any evidence to the contrary, she believed it. Marisa was an idiot. She would not inspire this family connection in her father, sober or not. She was not worthy of it.

She was going back.

Idiot. She didn't even know anymore if she referred to Marissa or herself.

She paused in the corridor before the common room, looking up at the portrait.

"Welcome back to Haven, Ms. Kearns", greeted Lord Nigel from his portrait, and Jena cringed as she heard her head of house let out a low hiss.

The portrait though the head of house a puzzled look. "And what, exactly is your problem, young man?"

"Since when has the Slytherin common room been referred to as Haven, Phineus?" He questioned sharply.

"Salazar himself referred to Hogwarts has 'Haven' or home – all of the Founders did. Ms. Kearns stumbled upon a reference to it in her history reading – and it is good to see you back, and returning to health, child."

Realizing the professor's ire was not directed toward her, she gave the Portrait a soft smile, but it was fleeting. "Well met, Lord Nigel." She replied quietly, looking down at her feet when she heard the professor abruptly give the password. Great, now she had done something to make Professor Savoy angry. Couldn't she do anything right?

The Professor was dumbstruck. He never recalled hearing such a thing – he had heard that new Prophecy, was Hogwarts the "Haven" that needed saving, and would that task truly fall to Jena? What did this all mean? And why he couldn't ever catch a break, he thought angrily.

"Jena, go get your books for tomorrow's classes and come back to the common room. I will arrange to have some of your classmates help you today." He realized that his uncertainly was making his temper short and he was likely taking it out on the child. He drew a deep breath, and centered his thoughts. He knew that she was already tired from the walk down here, and would need more rest, but a bit of school work shouldn't be pushing her too hard, and he needed to get some space from her before he said something he would truly regret. He watched as she turned quickly from him to comply with his order.

The room had quieted some with the entrance of the new comers, and Austin had turned from Matilda to see what had everyone's attention. His face split with a smile to see the small girl that he had grown quite fond of. That she had been gone from the common room for a week after being found meant he hadn't seen much of the child in the past 11 days, and quickly approached her.

"Welcome back, Jena. Feeling better?" He greeted her enthusiastically stopping her progress half way across the common room. Her eyes flicked up at him briefly, as she slowed, and carefully made her way around him.

"I'm ok, Austin, but the Professor is waiting form me." she said quietly even as she continued to move off. Austin's brow furrowed in puzzlement. She had seemed reserved and hesitant, which was normal for her, but far more wary. He had grown used to her careful enthusiasm, and endless thirst for knowledge. To see her once again cowed and nervous, much like she had been at the beginning of the term was disheartening to him.

She watched as she made her way off, and the Professor approached Austin.

"Jena is tired and will tire easily for a few days. Please keep an eye on her, and try to keep her from overdoing." Asked the Professor, noting the boy's contemplative look.

"She didn't seem very excited to see me." replied the Prefect thoughtfully.

"Mr. Murphy, I don't think Jena has managed to resolve the emotions she observed on Halloween. You may need to explain them in excruciating detail. Hiding things from Jena to spare her feelings will only make her confusion grow and cause her to trust us less. She has had some disquieting news today as well. Take things slowly with her." He gave the boy a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "She will need review for her tests which were rescheduled for next week, and some help catching up with the other students. Can I leave it to the Prefects to get that organized for her today?"

"Yes sir."

"I will leave you to it then, I need to go see the Headmistress."

Jena made her way to her dorm room, to find Organza and Misha sitting on Misha's bed, looking through a fashion catalogue.

"She's back. Too bad, with her howling through the night, we won't get a good night's sleep." sniped Misha.

"And early morning tutoring sessions. They leave circles under my eyes." sighed Organza, "Not to mention they are tedious.

Realizing they were not actually speaking to her, and not having a response for their criticisms, Jena quietly collected her school work, only to discover she couldn't lift the bag. What was she going to do? The Professor had told her to return immediately to the common room. She listened attentively to both Organza and Misha from next to the bed, but neither acknowledged her presence. She didn't want to disappoint her head of house, and returning without the books didn't seem like an option. What felt like an eternity but was likely only a few minutes, she built up her nerve.

"Please forgive my interrupting, but Professor Savoy is waiting for me, and I can't lift my bag. Please, will one of you help me?" she asked quietly, as both girls looked at her disdainfully.

"Do I look like I carry around things for people?" scoffed Misha.

Organza sighed heavily. "We aren't servants, Kearns. Go find someone else to haul your junk."

Jena turned and contemplated the bag for another moment, and finally left the dorm, empty handed.

She returned to the common room, only to find the Professor had left. A cold claw cinched her stomach. Why had he left? Wasn't he going to help to get her classes sorted out, she wondered? Perhaps he was too impatient, and she had been too slow gathering her books. Or, she had misunderstood him, but she didn't think so.

Suddenly, there were several older students walking toward her, and Justin Abernathy grabbed her by the shoulder turning her to face him. His firm grasp hurt more than she could bear. Her eyes teared up, and she gasped, only to be released as suddenly as she had been grabbed.

"Slytherins stick together and defend each other, but that doesn't mean we go around doing stupid things. What in the hell do you think you were doing roaming around by yourself, Kearns?" Abernathy asked her sharply, towering over her much smaller form.

Another student, which one she couldn't tell snapped smartly, "We wasted days looking for you, Kearns. Half the House has to do something to take care of your sorry self already, don't you think you have caused enough trouble?" asked the voice sarcastically.

"I'm sorry." She replied quietly, trying not to make eye contact with anyone and move away from Abernathy, how was still looming.

"Jena," Austin's voice cut in, as he stepped through the crow, placing himself protectively between the girl and the older students, "where is your book bag? Professor Savoy said you should be out here studying." He said exasperatedly.

Her heart was racing, and her palms had started to sweat. The pounding of her blood in her ears was being echoed in the throbbing of her shoulders. She needed to get away from here, for people to leave her alone. Maybe if she explained, she thought desperately.

"I couldn't…" she tried, but her voice broke.

"Wait," commanded Abernathy, before she could finish her reply. "Let's address one thing at a time, shall we?" he said, moving closer to the girl. He stopped when she visibly flinched away from him and had to try to cover an attempt to raise arm to protect herself. She couldn't raise her arm into that position until it healed, she realized. There were too many bodies for her to slip by and away from Abernathy, and she was frantically trying to seek an escape route out of her peripheral vision.

The muttering group quieted when they saw the girl cowed and flinching away, Austin noted. Whether it was just sinking in that the girl had certainly been more 'inconvenienced" by her ordeal than they had, or if they recognized that the girl was terrified and upset was unclear.

"Jena, why don't we get your bag together so you can study?" Austin asked quietly, eyeing the slightly older students around her.

"First, Ms. Kearns, we will have your word that you will not wander off by yourself again." Said Justin Abernathy sternly. "We don't need to be looking for you, or defending you for that matter."

"Yes sir." Replied the girl meekly, still not making eye contact with anyone. She ignored everyone as the tittered at her giving a fellow student the title of 'sir'. Abernathy eyed her shrewdly.

"Get your bag, Kearns."

She glanced at Abernathy, fearfully, and then her eyes found Austin. He looked incredibly sad. She could sense disappointment and apprehension as well, and some anger.

Abernathy seemed genuinely pleased about something, but what it was escaped her. Austin was angry with her, and disappointed. Likely it was the same 'something' that had set the Professor off. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to trust Austin as much as she had. Abernathy huffed a bit.

"I am sorry, I tried to get my bag together, but I can't lift it, I… I can bring the books one or two at a time though." She said hurriedly inching away from the crowd.

"Sit by the fire and wait Jena. I'll get the bag." said Abernathy in the most officious tone. Austin noted that he glanced out of the corner of his eye toward Brandelynne. Ah, so his care of the child was to curry favor with the girlfriend that seemed concerned for the kid. Well, that made more sense, but it sickened him to see her cowed by a bully, and not resent it. Austin watched as she settled herself on the floor adjacent to the ledge of the hearth, as all the choice spots by the fire were taken. She often curled up there to do her work, as she was the only one small enough to use the shelf of the hearth as a small desk. He caught himself growling low in his throat though, as he noticed that this basically put her at Abernathy's feet. That fact wasn't lost on the remaining sixth and seventh years as they moved away back to their seats.

He needed to talk to Jena privately, but saw no way to do that just now. He silently seethed as he watched Abernathy lower her book bag to her like he just paid her the greatest favor in the world, and through a smirking glance to his friends. His eyes caught Matilda's who rolled them in exasperation and motioned for him to join in. Knowing that there was nothing forthcoming to fix the current situation, he sighed and made his way over. He just couldn't help to wish that the young girl didn't look so damn comfortable at the feet of a bully, acting like a servant.

Jena could feel Austin's eyes on her, and desperately wanted to join him, but dared not. Abernathy was protecting her at the moment, but to what purpose, she could not fathom, nor could she puzzle out what would be owed. Had Austin paused to watch the scene a bit longer, he would have seen her glance up at him longing, before casting a wary glance at Abernathy, and opening her Potions text. She stifled a sigh. At least she understood Abernathy. He treated her like every other adult in her life, like she was a thing, a slave, something that was unworthy. At least it was predictable. This place had turned out to be more dangerous than Jena thought. Attending to a strong bully was better than falling prey to lesser ones. She tried to quiet her thoughts, and attend her studies. It was going to be a long few days.


	23. Chapter 23  Meet the Parents

Professor Savoy walked slowly to the Headmistress's office. He needed to explain to her about Haven, and the pieces falling together for the prophecy. If Hogwarts was Haven, and Jena was the Seer, then Jena's presence would eventually defend Hogwarts. What did the prophecy mean, about leaving her alone? But didn't it also say "she alone would choose"? As frustrating as his previous mentor was, he now wished for his counsel. He had understood the intricacies of Prophecy and Magic better than anyone currently alive. A pang ripped through his heart. His former mentor was not alive, and the portrait was a pale ghost in comparison. What would be gained by talking to the headmistress? The Headmistress would definitely distance herself from Jena, thinking that the trouble centered around her, and wouldn't his knowledge of pureblood tradition, his insights into exactly why Lord Kearns would pull off the farce of 'recovery' to have his daughter come home give away parts of his disguise? No, there was no advantage to revealing the current knowledge, and no light the Headmistress would cast on it. He would bide his time. It has been a long week, and the lesson plans were not prepared far enough in advance. Turning abruptly, he decided that was a better use of his time.

"Ah, Professor Savoy, I was just about to dispatch a house elf to fetch you." Professor Savoy heard from the far end of the hall he was about to leave. He did another about face, only to see the Headmistress heading from what was obviously the grand fireplace in the dining hall toward her offices. With her trailed 4 sets of parents. Ah, so retribution was coming quickly, it would seem, he thought to himself. He smiled grimly. This, he was going to enjoy.

"How fortunate then that I was in the vicinity, Headmistress. What may I assist you with, Headmistress?" he asked politely, feigning ignorance as to the presence of the parents.

"If you would join me in my office before we get into specifics?" she inquired politely, but the sharp look she gave him indicated he had played this situation well.

"But of course."

"Very well then. Ladies and Gentleman, I would like to introduce our Defense of the Dark Arts professor, Professor Savoy, who is also Head of Slytherin. This is Mr. and Mrs. Malin, Dempsey, Boyer and Merrick." Pleasantries were murmured back and forth, and the Professor was satisfied to see that many of the parents looked somewhere from vaguely uncomfortable to down right hostile. He would be hostile with his offspring too, under the circumstances. The oddly tension-filled group made its way toward the Headmistress's office.

Once all were seated comfortably, albeit somewhat crowdedly around the Headmistress' desk, she fixed each one with a stern gaze, as if they were the errant student, and started right in.

"It speaks to the very nature of the problem we are going to discuss today that I contacted each of you about a behavior problem with your child, and not one of you protested when I contacted you this afternoon to attend this meeting. What I mean to say," the Headmistress explained, holding up her hand before one consternated parent – Mr. Malin - could protest that statement, "is that none of you questioned my judgment that the severity of the transgression of which your child is accused merited your presence, or that your child could be the perpetrator in an event with the possible consequence of expulsion." She let her gaze land on each parent.

"I can only assume then, that you understand your children capable of such an act, and furthermore neither I nor this school can fix this situation for you. You must be a part of this solution, should we stay partnered in educating your children. I wanted to start our conversation with this, so that we did not lose sight of our purpose."

"Minerva," Mr. Malin finally interrupted, "You cannot possibly be thinking of expelling Adam? You even made him a prefect!"

"John, I made him a prefect because I thought given some praise and responsibility he had enough backbone to lead his little group away from outlandish pranks that could be harmful or dangerous before anyone got hurt. He did not do that. Halloween night, a prank was played that nearly cost an eleven year old child her life. It's obvious that our plan did not work. I am sorry, I know I have been a friend of your family since the first war and joining the Order, but my first concern is the safety of the students in my school. The pranks compromised that safety. There will be punishment and a plan so that in never happens again."

"I think we are getting ahead of ourselves, Minivera." Professor Savoy intervened quietly.

The Headmistress "hrmph" for just a moment, startled, but then continued. "Yes, Professor Savoy is right. Your children have confessed to roaming the corridors just prior to the Halloween feast, and came across a first year student. Thinking to scare other passing students, they picked the child up and hung her by her cloak in a cabinet near the library. Mr. Boyer then cast a silencing charm. His hope was that no one could hear her call for help, but would hear her pounding to get out. Both Mr. Boyer and Mr. Malin shared a smirk. Professor Savoy saw red.

"We do have to apologize," said Professor Savoy, his voice quiet, but dripping sarcasm, "since silencing spells are covered in the 4th year curriculum, and obviously none of the children understood that 'silencio' would completely cut off all sound, not allowing anyone to come to the child's aid, although that was covered in the curriculum. I supposed we bear some responsibility for educating your children in the capability of performing such a stunt, but not well enough to understand that spell could have caused another student's death." Professor fixed each man with a stern gaze, and was gratified that at least the women paled a bit at that pronouncement.

"Well, be that as it may, the children did watch a fellow student cast a spell, and when the child went missing and information was asked for, they children did not voluntarily come forward. So even when they knew the other student was in danger, they did not come to her aid. They did eventually leave an anonymous note, but only well after the child disappeared. It was only when they were confronted with the note, and a spell identifying their magical signature on the document, and that the student had identified them that the boys confessed. Before I make a ruling on punishment, I wanted to hear from you, collectively, as the punishment will be the same for all of the children. Your thoughts?"

Glancing at her husband, Mrs. Malin spoke first. "Adam's a good boy, and it's obvious they didn't intend to hurt anyone. Obviously it was just a simple prank, just one that went horribly awry. Don't you think that expulsion is a little harsh?" she said.

"Your son was with a group of friends who picked up a child the weighs less than 10 stone, shoved her in a closet, and silenced it. They fully intended to do it, and ignored her begging to be let go. When told by the teachers her very life was in peril, they did nothing. I see that very much as intent." replied Professor Savoy, his voice barely above a whisper. "Actions, both magical and non-magical have serious consequences. The student nearly died, and spent a week in the infirmary. If every time your son said 'I didn't mean to do it" he escaped punishment, that very well could have led to this moment. The fact that your son was put in a position of trust, of leadership himself, made him more culpable, not less."

"Professor Savoy, I can't help but to wonder exactly why you are here?" asked Mr. Malin, in a dismissive tone, clearly not happy to have his wife lectured in such a way.

"I am the child's Head of House, as well as her guardian while at school. It is my job to look out for her well being." he replied quietly.

"And exactly how does it serve her well being to have our students expelled?" asked Mrs. Merrick.

"The victim in this case already has a history of abuse. Having to yet again deal with confronting more abusers on a daily basis seems cruel." replied Professor Savoy. "Since this is a pattern of behavior for these boys, I seen no reason why it would stop. Detention, lines, loss of privileges and contacting parents has all met with no success. Why should other students suffer when your children will not learn to take responsibility for their actions?"

"And exactly what were the girls' injuries?" asked Mrs. Merrick.

"She was found dehydrated and starving, her arms partially dislocated from hanging from her cloak, and her magical core was depleted. Mentally, she has been suffering nightmares and isolating herself from people." Professor Savoy didn't find it necessary to explain that the child was half starved and already avoided people.

Everyone looked vaguely uncomfortable.

"Minerva, I am sure if we simply explain to the boys how serious their actions are, and what happened, it will go along way toward curbing this behavior." said Mr. Malin tiredly.

"When the boys were told over and over again that something like this might happen if their pranks continued, they paid not heed, and the fact that it finally did happen will likely not deter future events. In this I agree with Professor Savoy." replied Minerva tiredly. "John, that child nearly died. I will not have children die on my watch. I don't want to expel the boys either. But this can't happen again." She replied tiredly, rubbing her eyes. "I have asked you all here to come up with a solution that her guardian will accept that is short of expulsion."

The parents sat uncomfortably, looking at each other.

"Well, I don't think Arnie should be punished as harshly. After all, he wasn't the ringleader, he wasn't a prefect, and he didn't cast the spell." replied Mrs. Dempsey.

"Because he just went along with it, you want him to face lesser punishment?" asked the Headmistress incredulously.

"It's those other boys! He just wants to fit in and be accepted. I bet if we asked him, he will tell you he really didn't do anything." she sniffed indignantly.

"I am sure he will." replied her husband. "Mostly because it's gotten him out of trouble every time so far. Rachel, this ends now. I have told you he will become a man, and he had to make his own decisions. What if someone had locked Arnie in a cupboard when he was 11, and not told anyone even when they knew he could die? I am sorry, Professor Savoy, for what your student went through. I don't want Arnie expelled, but I don't want this to happen to any child. Do you have a suggestion for us?"

"After reviewing the students files, expulsion was my suggestion." he replied. "The Headmistress wanted to see if there was a viable alternative. I couldn't think of one I would be willing to accept, and so you were called in."

"Well, could we work out something that really demonstrated how much they hurt her? Perhaps have them work in the infirmary, or St. Mungos?" stated Mrs. Malin, a bit desperately.

"Perhaps there is something these students could do to help the girl they hurt, to learn that their actions have repercussion? Expelling them is just going to get them sent to another school where they will have not learned what it meant to the child" suggested Mrs. Boyer.

"You don't give a kitten back to the child who cut its tail off." replied Professor Savoy harshly.

"We said we would listen to their suggestions, Professor Savoy." corrected the Headmistress gently, "but that said, I too am hesitant to traumatize the girl by having these students in a position to harm her again, even if it's unintentional. Ms. Kearns also has no reason to trust these boys." She replied, leaning back in her chair regarding the parents. "Mrs. Boyer, do you want to try expanding your suggestion?"

"Well, you did say the child missed a bit of school, and is hurt. Maybe the boys could tutor her, help her with her injuries, and escort her to class, you know, like taking care of a little sister? Then they would see how difficult they made her life, and would be more careful about doing that again." she trailed off.

"Ms. Kearns is a 1st year, and they are 4th and 5th year. That would mean missing their own classes until the winter break, or, at the very least being late, giving up all their free time, and possibly getting them behind in their own schooling and only then if Ms. Kearns is able to tolerate it." Professor Savoy shook his head. "It will also put them in the sites of the Slytherins, who will definitely not be kind to those who hurt one of their own. I don't think that will work."

"Well, as a wise man said, everyone deserves a second chance." said John Malin.

"Well, I say they have had it as well as a third and a fourth chance. Those chances eventually cost one child a week's stay in the infirmary. What if the 5th chance costs more?" Professor Savoy replied. "If something else happens, something worse, Mr. Malin, what then?"

A very uncomfortable silence descended on the room as all contemplated the question.

"Well," began the headmistress quietly, "does anyone have something more to add?"

She asked, waiting for several moments. Taking their silence as a sign of acquiescence, she continued, "I have thought about this for a few days now, and after speaking to the students, and now to you, I am instituting the following punishment. The ruling is for expulsion for all four. However," the headmistress raised a hand quieting the parents that had begun to protest. "I am suspending that decision based on them completing probation. The terms of the probation are to apologize to their victim, and to elicit her cooperation in their probation. They will monitor her, taking her to and from classes through her recuperation, taking over her tutoring, and helping her with her with daily tasks until she is fully recovered. That includes aiding the teacher she has been assigned duties to her for her scholarship, which just so happens to be Professor Savoy. They will move to a room in the Slytherin dorms, and be banned from the Gryffindor dorms until the end of winter term. All extracurricular activities are suspended for the remainder of the year. They will likely fall behind between now and the winter holidays, but they are required to turn in all work and be current by the end of the break. The expulsion will remain in force until they leave Hogwarts. Any offense serious enough to warrant anything more than a detention will mean their immediate expulsion. Upon successful completion of Owl or Newts, and there subsequent withdrawal form the school, the expulsion ruling will be converted to a probationary ruling in their permanent file. Professor Savoy, is this satisfactory?"

"I would add that any other act of malicious intent against Ms. Kearns would also mean immediate removal from the school." He sighed, "I don't like it, but I can't think that the children will be likely to repeat their behavior with the threat of expulsion hanging over their heads." replied Professor Savoy with a sigh.

"Headmistress, with all due respect, don't you think three years of having an expulsion hover over your head a little extreme? That's going to be very stressful to Maddox." stated Ms. Boyer tiredly.

"Because he will likely repeat the offense, Ms. Boyer? If you don't think your child can learn and behave responsibly, by all means the punishment should be expulsion." replied Professor Savoy, struggling to keep his trade mark sneer out of his voice.

"Mr. Savoy is correct. Those are the terms, and they aren't negotiable. You as the parent have the right to seek his education anywhere you wish. That does not need to be here at Hogwarts."

The Boyers looked at each other briefly, communicating silently. "We will leave Maddox here from now, but may find him an alternative school." Mrs. Boyer replied after a few moments.

"I don't like it either, but it's certainly not because it's fair." stated Mr. Malin. "And quite frankly, I can't afford the cost of sending Adam to Durmstrang with the record he will have. I suppose this means he is no longer prefect?" The man hung his head at Headmistress nod.

"I think we would all like some time to speak to our children, before the apology, and some time to explain their punishment."

"I have arranged for you to meet your children in the infirmary. There is more space there, and it's neutral. We will bring Ms. Kearns there after dinner tonight for the apology." Stated the Headmistress, as she rose, effectively ending the meeting.

"I will go speak with Ms. Kearns."

When Professor Savoy neared the common room, he was surprised to see the small girly ensconced at the shelf of the great hearth, her shoulders hunched over her work. A group of the surlier 7th years just steps away. No one had noticed his quiet entrance, and he stayed in the shadows observing. The child was studying as he had instructed her to do, but he could tell by her slow, careful movements, and the way her eyes darted to the older children around her, she felt far from safe within this room. Professor Savoy's brow furrowed in confusion.

Mr. Murphy was also close by, but mostly in with his 5th years, but the boy kept shooting worried glances as the girl's back. Obviously, they had let her settle in for herself and do some individual work rather than directing her, as he hoped they would do. He stifled a sigh. Things had been easier when he had been the potion master, and the domineering 'greasy git' of the dungeons. He could teach the potion classes in his sleep after 20 years. While he was really finding it more stimulating to teach DADA, it took considerably greater amounts of time to get his lessons together; and even then, there were now more head of house problems, not less. During the war, even the children in awful situations at home had pretty much kept their heads down. Now that things were safer, there were many more behavioral issues. He stepped out of the shadows, and cleared his throat.

"Ms. Kearns, a word, please." There was a murmur as the girl carefully rose and began to approach him.

"Bring your bag. We will be out of the common room." The girl stopped suddenly, glanced back at her bag, and then coloring with a blush, stopped to look at her feet.

Mr. Murphy got to his feet and quickly crossed to the girl, gathering her bag. "She couldn't lift it earlier, sir."

Jena felt relief to have Austin answer her head of house for her, but why he suddenly felt the need to do so eluded her. He quickly ushered her to the professor.

"Mr. Murphy, why don't you come along? Jena needs help with her bag, and could certainly use a friend for moral support." he asked quietly, ignoring the slight flinch the girl gave at the word friend. The child had yet to look up, instead seemingly finding the utmost fascination with the flagstone floor . Austin merely shrugged at his professor, raising an eye in question at the professor, and shouldered the girl's bag. The professor motioned them out of the common room, and Austin placed a gentle hand on the small of the girls back to guide her out. She was startled, but moved forward. She was glad no one was grabbing her shoulder again.

"Ms. Kearns, we are going to the infirmary." he stated as he led them on the now familiar route. "The children responsible for your injury are there with your parents, and will apologize for their behavior."

The girl almost stumbled, and Professor Savoy paused and turned. "No doubt, you would rather not do this now; however, their parents are already assembled." The girl had yet to look up, but began walking slowly. Professor Savoy too it as acquiescence, although he thought he could see her tremble.

"Ms. Kearns, I would give you some time to adjust to the idea, but you have to study, and I have classes to prep for. Mr. Murphy will be there with you, just remain calm, and then we can all get on to better things. The girl simply nodded without looking up, and continued as quickly as she could behind her professor.

Jena was trying to take deeper breaths. She couldn't do this. Why did she have to go see these people? What was the point? She didn't want their apology – they weren't sorry to have done it, after all, why would they even care. She was tired, and her stomach was off, but whether due to their nerves or her tiredness, she couldn't say for sure. What she desperately wanted and needed was an hour, maybe just one eve, where she could be utterly and completely alone, ensconced ion quiet and let her thoughts slow. She needed to be away. Away she thought…but when had she ever gotten what she needed.

Austin was worried. He could feel the girls trembling from where he left his hand on her back and she was quiet – far too quiet. He would just have to have faith that the Professor knew what he was doing.

The professor glided silently into the infirmary, through the entry way to the area he knew the families awaited. Austin stepped ahead of Jena opening the infirmary door and ushering her in, but she slowed in the entry way. She was tired, and achy, she sensed worry from Austin, concern perhaps for her, she couldn't tell, but she could sense many things ahead. Anger. Sadness. A despairing sense of hopelessness. Austin stepped up behind her, and guided her toward the main room, his hand again on the small of her back. She came to a complete, halting stop however, at the entry way of the room Here, 4 children set on the nearest bed, two on the left hand bed, to on the right, with 8 parents arrayed in pairs behind them, and the professor and Headmistresses to the her immediate right, talking quietly. Time seemed to still, and finally drift to a stop.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't face the disappointment in this room, the anger anxiety. Somewhere she knew that these were the good kids, who had parents that cared, that had parents that looked at them in that way she witnessed on the Platform 9 and 3/4s, the way she would never be looked at… and she by her very existence had created this, this perversion of unhappiness and despair. She was worthless, and she did bring misery at every turn. Her head snapped to the left as she heard her Head of House address her, but she couldn't make out the words. A rushing sound filled her ears, and her breath was shallow, and could not sustain her.

Professor Savoy turned from greeting the Headmistress when he didn't immediately sense his students enter behind him. He saw Ms. Kearns enter slowly, and wasn't surprised that Mr. Murphy had to encourage her a bit. Then, he noticed her stop and look up. Her eyes were glassy, pale and watery, set in her small gaunt face, hauntingly despairing and afraid. More than a deer in the headlights, more like the wild eye of a thoroughbred caught in the tangle of limbs in the middle of a race. He called out to her, voice gentle, trying to draw her attention from the group in front of her, hoping but not really believing his ploy of distraction would keep her from bolting.

Professor Savoy was correct, however. And sighed as the child bolted for the door. He nearly applauded that his 5th year had the instincts to realize what was happening and head her off from the exit, only to watch her in her hastily stabling run, reach the far corner of the entryway turn, pressing her back against it wild eye, spin again and press herself face first in the corner arms as close to being over her head as injuries allowed, with gasping breaths that could be heard from where he stand.

Time sped forward again, and he shot a glare at the Headmistress. "I didn't think she could take this." He muttered, as he moved forward, taking no time to explain the scene to the children or parents who appeared to be hopeless trapped in it.

He heard one of the parents, John Malin, if his memory served; break the stunned silence of the onlookers. "Adam, that's the child you pranked? That little girl? She's not even as big as your baby brother – how could you have done such a thing?" the man asked his son, incredulity and disappointment mixed in his tone. Good, thought Professor Savoy grimly. If nothing more came from the girls emotional break down, perhaps the parents seeing the results of their children's prank as they really are would put some sort of positive spin on what seemed to be a slowly moving tragedy.

"Jena," he said quietly, kneeling behind her, but not quite touching her. "It's all right. No one is going to hurt you. I need you to breathe in for me. Take a deep breath." All

Professor Savoy could do is getting her to calm down. When her breaths were even, and her arm lowered ever so slightly, he gently placed both hands on her shoulders, and pulled her back against his torso. He was surprised when she quickly turned and buried her face in his robe, making herself small as possible. He realized that his body completely shielded her from the view of the others. Likely the reason for her behavior, he thought, but his arms instinctively held her closer, and he caught himself murmuring meaningless reassurances to her.

"It's alright Jena. Just calm down. Nothing is going to happen. These students didn't really mean to hurt you, and they are going to help you now. It's ok Jena." Professor Savoy glanced up at Austin, who visage was stern as a 15 year old could get, but he could see the bewilderment and sorrow in the child's eyes.

When Jena's trembling had almost subsided some minutes later, he decided that it would be best to get this ordeal over with if they could.

"Jena, can you speak to the students over there, if Austin and I are with you? I promise you, they are just going to tell you they are sorry." He explained quietly.

"They are _angry_." She whispered fiercely, "They do not feel _sorry_." Jena replied emphatically.

"Jena, you don't know why they are angry. I think you might not realize it, but those parents might be angry because you are hurt, because their children, who they taught better, hurt you. They are disappointed Jena. They are not angry at you." Professor Savoy explained earnestly.

"They are. They are angry at me. This is all because of me. Please I don't… I don't want…" Jena's face looked pained; she was desperately searching for the words to express her fear, to make someone, anyone to protect her, to make her feel safe.

"Jena, it's not your fault." He explained calmly as he turned the child a bit so he could watch her face. He needed her to learn to control her abilities sooner rather than later. He desperately wished for an expert other than Trelawney.

"Please Jena, try to remember that you don't always know the cause of people's emotions, and you aren't responsible for the negative ones." He explained, almost exasperatedly.

"I am irritating you." She said fearfully, "and those students wouldn't be upset if not for me."

"Jena, those students are responsible for their own awful behavior. When they finally told someone that they knew you were in a cupboard, they didn't exactly admit they were the ones put in their. It wasn't until I had poof that we could event talk to the parents. It's a shock to them, that's all. We can get this over with now, and they can make up with their parents, or we can have them come back if you can't do this just now. Jena?" he said softly, watching the child's drained face flash with apprehension and fatigue. Dark circles were under her eyes, and her lips were nearly colorless. She trembled lightly, but this seemed more from cold than from fear. He remembered that the child's only cloak had been ruined, something else the parents needed to make up for.

"I'll talk to them now. It won't take very long?" she asked tiredly. He shook his head while helping her up noticing that the child unconsciously tightened her hold on his cloak when he tried to step away. Instead, he kept contact and led her slowly over to the parents. Jena watched her feet. She didn't know why the Professor was being so nice now, when he had been so terse in the common room, nor why Austin was seeking her company now, rather than leaving as he could, but she wouldn't second guess motives now. She didn't know if she could stand this.

Professor Savoy scanned the faces of the children, their faces also averted, but mostly in disgrace and embarrassment. The parents faces held a range of emotions, from weary boredom to deep sadness as they regarded the frail child. Professor Savoy stopped further away than what was strictly polite for a civil conversation, however, a little distance was likely to reassure his young charge.

"As I believe you have already gathered, this is Ms. Kearns." Professor Savoy introduced dryly.

"Child, where is your cloak? You can't be wandering around the castle in shirt sleeves, you will catch your death!" stated Mrs. Boyer. Professor Savoy was irritated by her smothering manner. Maybe this was why her son had never taken responsibility… he had never had any.

"My cloak was ruined in the cabinet." Replied Jena, not looking up. Not good.

"Jena, you need to look at people when you talk to them." He chided gently. The child nodded once but kept her gaze on the floor. He had a sneaking suspicion that might be the last phrase the child uttered through this conversation.

Adam Malin, the former prefect, wadded into the emotional soup, blundering in as only a Gryffindor could do. "Uhm… er, Jena, I'm sorry. We thought you'd be fine. I… I remember you from the train. I didn't think that you would be upset, see, 'cause the cupboard isn't' high, you know? We thought you'd be found by the feast time, honest. We just kept thinking you'd get found, and when you didn't we got scared that we should have said something. It got out of control before we really knew. Were sorry Jena all of us." Murmured assents from the other boys still weren't enough to make Jena look at them.

"Well, we'd like to make it up to you. Professor Savoy says you need help, with your bag and stuff, and you been getting tutored. We are all supposed to help and all, but you have er, to agree, I guess." He finished lamely. The boy's face was shot with disappointment. It was obvious from the girl's response that she wanted nothing to do with the boys, Professor Savoy thought and with good reason.

"What happens if she doesn't agree?" asked Mr. Murphy into the room.

"Er… I guess we have to go to schools somewhere else, 'cause we'd be expelled." Maddox Boyer. The girl's head whipped up to her head of house, in shock, her eyes narrowing in what he was getting to realize was her 'reading' expression for emotions. He smiled reassuringly at her. "That's right, Ms. Kearns. If you can't accept their apology and feel safe at Hogwarts, then they are expelled, but if you can accept their help, then maybe something good can come of all this." She sensed his sincerity, and some warmth, that felt like anything she had ever felt. She tried to name it and couldn't. Her glance shot back to Austin, who was studying, apprehension and concern written plainly there. "But Austin was my mentor… but he really didn't want to do that any more… did he." She said extremely quietly, hoping that Austin wouldn't hear, but in the tense air, her voice carried.

"No Jena, I very much want to be your mentor. I haven't had a chance to talk to you, but Halloween, I wasn't lying when I said I just wanted a break for a day. I didn't want a break from you, but just the routine, you know? I would still be your mentor... but they would be your subject tutors, and I'd get to supervise them." Something cold and calculating came into Austin's eyes, and in that instant she realized that it was better to be on Austin's good side. She felt protected. She glanced back to her Professor, her expression pleading. Professor's heart ached for the child. He stooped down in front of her cutting of her view of the troop in front of her as well as their view of her.

"It will be alright. They won't be happy, and they won't enjoy it, but they won't harm you, and they will do a good job tutoring. What do you say? You don't have to say yes… if you can't get past what has happened, no one will blame you.

"You… you will be watching, right?" she asked, her voice shaky, and barely more than a whisper.

"Yes. You are my ward. I will make it work, or I will make them leave. You have my word, child." He told her, keeping his tone soft. The professor was beyond shocked as the child too one small step towards him, slowly, hesitantly, her eyes narrowed in concentration, and then reached out, slowly placing her arms around his neck. It wasn't an embrace, exactly, it was more that her quaking had began again, and she needed someone to hold her up. She was leaning against him head down. The child was completely spent, and needed to feel safe, he realized. He gently encircled her in his arms, and hoisted her onto his hip, as if she was a child much, much younger than 11. She tensed, but the trembling lessened.

"You agree?" he asked quietly, setting her. As short nod against his shoulder was the only response he got. Turning to the children and parents he spoke a bit more firmly, but kept his tone soft, mindful of the distressed child in his arms. "Ms. Kearns has agreed. She needs to rest, I am afraid this was all a bit much. I will return once she is settled. Mr. Murphy is her mentor, and is in charge of her current tutoring schedule. He can get started with the children and getting a program set." He turned with no further ado, and headed back to his domain. He needed to speak with the girl, and she needed to rest. It was going to be 7 very long weeks to the Christmas break… and what of the child then?

The corridor echoed his footsteps as hollowly as his brian registered ideas. He had to think of something.


	24. Chapter 24  Gryffindor Minders

Hello Folks:

Thanks for your patience – this is the "December" posting. Like many, the holidays are more of a dysfunctional family tour for me than a Hallmark card experience, so I was otherwise occupied. The New Year means more free time, and more writing time! Yahoo for 2011!

The usual disclaimers apply – I am not JK Rowling, I don't even have a British accent, and can't fake one convincingly. I didn't make any money writing this, nor will I ever. Snape isn't dead in my story, which means this is AU.

On with the story….

Jena sat quietly in the common room, her early morning practice of her penmanship one of the few things that had not changed over the last several weeks. It was just over a month since her "Gryffindor minders" had assumes their post. She didn't *mind* her minders, per se – they had been nice, if a bit awkward at first. That first day of classes, Organza's tutoring session had been taken over by Adam Malin. He had been clumsy to be sure. She sighed as she recollected their first encounter.

"_Uhm, yeah, Hi, Jena., or do you want me to call you Ms. Kearns?" _

The boy had been nervous, but about what, she wasn't sure.

"_Jena is fine." _

After all, she hadn't known what to call him, either. She had wondered briefly if she should she ask to call him, but…

Strangely, she really hadn't been afraid of him, or any of the others when they met one to one, especially not in the Slytherin common room.

She had met with many Slytherins one to one, and while few had been kind exactly, none had been any more than verbally cruel. Having a lifetime of physical cruelty, it hadn't even registered on her Richter scale. Adam, as he insisted she call him some time later, had been down right incredulous at her lack of previous education, but not in the obnoxious way the other Slytherins were. Instead of "you really should have" and "why haven't you", it was more "someone should have" and "how could someone" – almost like it wasn't in some way attributable to her, personally. She knew it was – she was worthless – just look at the messes she had managed to cause here in only a few months, but it was nice to pretend, if only for a moment, that maybe someone should help her, or that someone would.

She rather thought it was dimwitted of the Gryffindors – that's what the other Slytherins said, after all, and didn't they come from the best of society? And the Gryffindors – they were truly agape at her current achievements. Her first round of testing, terribly delayed after the Halloween fiasco, had shown that she was up to grade level in several subjects… and just a year to two behind in others. If she could keep up the hard work, she would be up to grade level in everything before the end of her first year at Hogwarts. Professor Savoy had deemed it "certainly adequate"; but astounding? No, that certainly wasn't her.

She sighed- well, she would make it up to grade level this year, that is *if* she survived the upcoming visit with her father, and was able to return to Hogwarts. With a shudder she pushed that as far out her mind as she could. The Professor had told her to let him worry about that, and she had been meeting with him every Sunday since the incident, as he had dubbed calling her collapse in the meeting with the parents. Really, that was only four times, but it was a peaceful moment of structure in her chaotic and frightening week. Early, on Sunday mornings, she joined him in his quarters for a light breakfast. She relished the time and quiet, able to eat her fill without the intervention of her keepers seizing food from her domineering housemates. Then she worked on her coursework and for a whole hour and was able to ask the Professor any question that came to mind, even if it wasn't about her coursework. He would then give her the therapy of her shoulders, which constituted rubbing a salve into the wounds that had sustained the deepest damage, and then having her do a light series of exercises. Finally she got to her favorite part – Professor Savoy always had some small series of chores for her to complete. She wasn't deluded enough to think she was any real help, but even being able to be of some small services somehow brought her a sense of calm she had been entirely unable to get any other time.

She heard someone enter, the sound brining her back from her musings, and looked up to see if it was Adam. However, it was Austin, coming in from early morning Quidditch practice however.

"Good morning Jena. Sleep well?"

She regarded him shyly, but didn't reply looking away quickly.

"About usual, huh?" he said, smirking a bit at her lack of response, but regarding her somewhat sadly, albeit fondly. Jena didn't want to talk about her nightmares, nor really about herself at all. She had been a little less reserved with him, after he had emphatically denied that she was a burden of any kind, and that he did so out of a desire to help her rather than any sense of obligation. She was still far too reticent for his liking, and he was very irritated at the loutish Gryffindors that pulled her all over the castle, not even noticing when she was having difficulty keeping up with them, not eating, not sleeping, with her just doing her best to keep up and stay out of the way. Austin knew that if he caught her in the common room alone like this, she was more likely to open up though. Since the Halloween incident, she had been almost silent in group settings. It was… unsettling.

"Who's your next tutor?" he asked, moving around behind the chair she was perched to see what she was working on. He could have guessed by her calm state it was her handwriting. Any methodical activity like that seemed to make her less anxious.

"Dempsy, transfiguration." she replied quietly, glancing at the timepiece over the mantle.

"He's late again." noted Austin scowling slightly. "I'll take a quick shower, and if he's not back, I can answer questions."

She regarded him quickly eyes narrowing. Professor Savoy had explained this behavior meant that she was reading him, and it was best to relax and focus no the positive emotions he had when she did this. He sighed, and focused on how it was good to know that she was safe, and doing better. Whatever she saw seemed to satisfy her, and she nodded once again with barely murmured thanks, and continued her figures.

He shook his head, a soft smile playing at his lips as he headed off to the shower. Being with Jena was like having a 40 year old sister sometimes. The girl was far too serious by half.

When Adam returned to the common room, it was to find Dempsey and Jena ensconced at a table, considering her textbook.

"I don't understand what you problem is. You read the book, and I explained it to you. Figure it out, Kearns! That's what learning is about. Can't I for once just finish my own homework? You are useless!" the short, round faced boy sighed exasperatedly.

"Dempsy, you aren't here to do your home work. You are here to tutor Jena. You are also not here to insult her, berate her and I will report you to Professor Savoy if I hear one more insult." Austin said tightly as he approached, catching both by surprise.

"It's ok Austin. He's right, I am useless at this," she said, shaking her head sadly. Austin shot them both with a glare.

"You are not useless. You are nearly caught up with your class mates, despite what this lout and his little friends pulled, Jena. I am going to be very disappointed with you if you believe the insults this idiot gives you." he informed her sternly, watching the smirk the boy had adopted as the small girl agreed with his insults morph into an angry sneer as the Prefect threw out an insult of his own.

Austin resisted dismissing the boy from the common room outright. Two of the Gryffindors had tried the ruse of riling the girl or the other Slytherins in the common room to escape their punishment, it did no one any good for them not to be involved with helping Jena.

"Explain to me the major concepts, and where Jena is struggling." Austin commanded. He watched the boy mouth move silently in frustration.

"You… I can't… No! I don't have to explain anything to you!" sputtered Dempsey, his face starting to color with his embarrassment and frustration. Across the table, Jena shifted nervously, looking about the common room, which was still mostly empty. Austin noticed that she was shifting away from both of them, equally unsettled by his anger as by the other boy's discomfiture. She had become more sensitive after the incident, avoiding anger and negative emotions even in people he knew she liked.

"Jena has agreed to be tutored by you and your lot rather than see you expelled. You aren't going to repay her generosity by insulting her or making her feel worthless, and if you aren't willing to let me help you, then I will have not choice than to go to professor Savoy and explain that you tutoring includes telling her to "figure it out" and that she is worthless!"

Dempsey, sensing that the other boy was not going to let this go, capitulated, even though he was still seething. Austin had everything, a pureblood family with money, the respect of the teachers, friends, a very hot girlfriend he thought bitterly; he didn't need to make him cater to this lowlife kid, who was looking down at her books, failing to meet the other's eyes. "Fine. The book is explaining material classes, and the different class to class material transformations. She doesn't understand how to determine what class an object is in. She read it twice, and I explained it, and she still doesn't get it. Satisfied?" he sneered.

Austin raised one eyebrow. No, he wasn't nearly satisfied. The concept was a simple one; objects fell into four magical classes in nature, mineral/earth, gas/air, liquid/water, energy/fire and a transfiguration from one class to another took more energy because you had to change the magical nature of the object first. Most students sensed this as they cast, and it was intuitive once they started to get a feel for the objects magical nature around them. Jena, who could feel the magical people around her should be adept at this, he figured. That is, if her tutors would stop upsetting her and making her afraid.

"What's troubling you, Jena?"

"Many things have energy. Liquids feel like they have mineral, the air often has energy, and people have a combination of things. How do you apply one type of transfiguration well, to anything?" she said her voice seemingly small and quiet, as if she didn't quite want anyone to hear her conversation. Austin gave her a small smile, but sighed as he considered her seething tutor.

"She is just more sensitive than most, Dempsey. She can already feel what the text is talking about at the next level. She obviously is not useless." He said, making sure the other boy could figure out his derogatory comments to the girl would not be tolerated. "Assume for now that the most basic level will work on all objects – you are correct, it won't but that's why you start with simple objects like bits of ore. Just try to get the hang of that first, and the complexity of items will be addressed later." Jena nodded and considered her text again, but Austin noticed how her eyes darted to her tutor every few moments, trying to keep an eye on him.

"How about I take you up for an early breakfast Jena?" he asked quietly, aware that the girls stiff posture and roaming eyes meant that she would get little accomplished until she was more settled, and that she was unlikely to eat much if she was upset. "Dempsey, you can stay here and finish you own homework," he said, quickly wiping the smirk of triumph off the other's boy's face. Jena gathered her things, and Austin shouldered her bag. A month after the ordeal he thought, and the girl could pick it up, but couldn't carry it as far as the dining room.

Professor Savoy sat his mug of tea on his desk early Sunday morning. Next week to Christmas break now, and this was next to last meeting with Jena. The girl was mostly recovered. She was still shy to the point of being painful, and avoided people displaying strong emotions, especially angry emotions, but the child had kept up in her classes, and continued to gain in the areas she was deficient. Surprisingly, the Gryffindors that had moved to the dungeons had improved her tutoring, and although the boys were far from happy, the school had quieted down quite a bit. The boys had obviously been quite active in their pranking. The Boyer boy had been the one assigned detentions and study with Professor Savoy himself, and had found the boy quite talented at potions. Both he and Jena had been assigned small tasks to aid him in brewing, and extra chore he had taken on to help Poppy get adequate stocks in the infirmary. He had scheduled his mastery exam for winter break, which is partially why he was apprehensive about the upcoming visit. Try as he might, he had been unable to persuade the idiot social worker to allow the child to remain at least part of the holiday at the school, and while he was studying and working with the Potions master, he would have little opportunity to monitor the child. He sincerely doubted that Marissa Dougherty would spend her holiday popping in on the child either.

He had thought about trying to divert the child's anxiety by coaxing her to thinking about and looking forward to her return to school after the break. Her tutoring would be reduced and he thought about the inducement of more free time, but then he realized she would begin her regular lessons with Professor Trelawney. He grimaced at the thought. The child had not taken to the woman. Quite the contrary, the only thing since the incident that had thrown her into a full panic attack was being forced into the woman's presence. He cringed at the remembrance. He had asked for Professor Trelawney to join them for lunch after their second meeting in his quarters to get he used to the woman, who had made her so uncomfortable in the infirmary. Maybe his own reservations about having someone he was less than enamored with in his personal space had put the girl on edge, but the woman's odd ramblings on "inner eyes", "future paths" and "gateways of the mind" had finally caused the girl to sit in a chair, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped protectively around herself and trembling. He was mortified when he found that the girl was actually unresponsive, rather than sitting and listening to the old fraud's ramblings. He had finally broken in and asked Jena if she wanted more tea, only to get no answer. He has summarily dismissed the woman and dosed Jena with a calming draught and gently did her physical therapy. He noticed when she was panicky, such as when she had had nightmares over the past several weeks, and her dorm mates had summoned him that touch seemed to draw her back to herself. But the problem at hand was Trelawney and tutoring, which would happen regularly upon her return from the winter break. Well, not that would be forced, per se, but scheduled. He hoped that for all their sakes, the divination teacher could help her figure out her skills so she could gain some confidence. She needed to be able to stand up for herself.

He heard a hesitant knock, and bade the child to enter. She quickly came over, and seated herself, at his nod and they had a quiet meal. The child had put on a stone since the incident, but even so, was still painfully thin. Her habit of not eating when upset or frightened had been difficult to overcome in the great hall after the incident, which is part of the reason he had insisted on breakfast with her once a week. He stifled a sigh of frustration, although it wasn't the child's fault, she or matters related to her care took up quite a bit of his free time. And although his life was significantly different than his former incarnation as the greasy git of the dungeons, anything that tied him to a person or relationship felt stifling. He simply didn't want the responsibility. He pushed the feelings down with a quick occulmency exercise lest they be discovered by the child.

In reality, the child was being protected by the ministry in some limited way, and he didn't think the father would step out of line where his behavior might make it into the Prophet. And no, the experience would likely be unpleasant for the child, but not one that would bring her any lasting harm. He himself had endured with no one to protect him from the hand of Tobias Snape. She on the other hand, would be protected from the father's hand, and words she could move past. It wasn't ideal, but short of taking custody of the child himself, he saw no alternative. He wasn't father material, despite what Poppy might suggest.

Jena noticed her professor was a bit brooding this morning. She felt what she thought was quilt, mingled by frustration, but couldn't think that her coming to his class on time as instructed was the cause, so she ate quietly, not interrupting the Professor as he worked through whatever it was that he was thinking. At the end of the meal, he inquired quietly about her classes and progress, and seemed pleased, which made her relax further. They retired to the small potions lab he had set up, and she helped him with washing equipment that had been left to sit somewhere in the castle and had grown quite dusty before moving on to some ingredient preparations. He was content and calm and she found the time restful. By the time she was tidying up for the mid day break, her shoulders were achy and trembling with fatigue, but she felt decidedly proud that she had completed the work without needing a break.

Professor Savoy motioned her out of the lab, and into his study again, where he grabbed the tub of balm and a towel. He was pleased that the child trusted him enough to take on the therapy, and he knew that the physical nature of the chores today would be a good test of her recovery, and he was very pleased at the result. He could tell has he pushed into the muscles to get the tension to release that it was a bit more uncomfortable for the child, but she bore it without complaint. Truly, if he were every to want a child, one as sensible as Jena would not be unwelcome. Uncomplaining, respectful, unassuming and observant, the child was rarely in need of correction of any kind.

"Child," he said, as he capped the jar. "I am afraid that in the next few weeks, no one will help you with your therapy, but you are nearly healed, and I don't think a break will set you back." He watched her through his peripheral vision trying to see how much this conversation would distress her. "You will be with your father, which I know is less than ideal. Your social worker, however, has been in contact with me. There will be protections on you home that will prevent your father from raising a hand to you, or coming into the home incapacitated. Stay in the house and within the ministry wards, and keep your head down. You should be fine." He said in a firm, reassuring voice.

Jena sat down, studying her hands in her lap, trying not to let the warm feelings from just a few moments ago flee her so precipitously, but it was really happening. She was going back to her father's, after she disobeyed, left, and ran away to school. Fear settled like a cold lump of steel in the pit of her stomach. He had yelled, punched, kicked and verbally tore her down for the past two years. And while she was not his servant, and was treated better than those that had enslaved her, it was better, but only just, but hadn't the professor and Austin told her that she didn't deserve that treatment, that she wasn't useless and yet, no one wanted her either. Sure, like today, the Professor's emotions seemed positive, but he had been withdrawn to begin with, was that because he hadn't wanted her here today? And now, she could sense a darkness, from him a foreboding sense of anxiety. He didn't want her to know how he felt maybe? Why would he care if he didn't care about her? Her emotions fluttered around as uselessly as her thoughts, and she could make no sense of her predicament.

"I understand." Jena finally returned at length. She watched as the tension in the man's eyes and shoulders eased, and he turned, a small, sad half smile playing at his lips. She quickly tried to school the fear from her face. Much as she watched the tensions slip from her head of house's features, she could sense his emotions ease a bit too - less foreboding, less sense of helplessness. No, she could do nothing to improve her lot, but maybe she could make life a bit more tolerable for her Professor, even if that meant giving up her time with him. She just wished it didn't feel so much like she was giving up something she desperately needed, like oxygen. She kept her eyes averted. She didn't want him to see the despair she felt she was drowning in.

Next chapter: Jena goes home, Savoy meets and old Master, and the truce ends between the Lions and the Snakes….


	25. Chapter 25 Last Class

Disclaimer:

JK Rowling owns anything related to Harry Potter. I do not. Since some people believe lawyers aren't smart enough to figure this out, I thought I too, would point out the obvious. Don't sue me or I will make fun of you forever, or do what Spielberg does and make sure the a lawyer dies in the most atrocious way possible in everything I write.

For those of you following my posting, I should be back on a regular posting schedule… got though the holidays and some family health issues… but I did just start a new job. I'll do my best! I have a couple of chapters ready to go, and may be enticed to post sooner than later with enough reviews… maybe. On with the story.

Thursday before the winter break, only this class, and one day to go, thought Professor Savoy tiredly. This was his first years, mixed Slytherin and Gryffindor for DADA, and per usual, his smallest Slytherin was at the back edge of the room with her current minder, the fifth year known as Graham Merrick. He wasn't ideal for Jena, his swaggering demeanor often hiding her more timid nature, pushing her questions aside and blustering through her tutoring, but he was well liked by the Lions and tended to keep them out of trouble during class, the Professor acknowledged to himself reluctantly. He noticed that Jena was wearing the replacement robe that the families had sent. It was a fall weight robe, no heavier than the first, and he noticed that she often shivered in class when they weren't moving around. The child was still much too thin, and got cold far too easily.

The children were paired off, working on simple hexes, so unnoticed by the class; he was able to cast a silent and wandless warming spell at her as he went by. He noticed that she shook herself a bit, sensing the magic, but didn't interrupt her flow with her partner, and he smirked to himself. So far, the child had not gotten ill on his watch and given her poor overall health, that in and of itself, was an achievement.

After he stepped back through the pairs, he heard the 5th year's voice, sharply correcting his charge.

"Kearns, that's too rough! You can't possibly be that poor at attenuation!" Graham Merrick snapped at her, and Professor Savoy turned quickly enough to see the flinch she gave at the anger in that voice.

"I'm sorry; I just don't have it right. I'll try again." She offered, her quiet voice wavering slightly. The older boy pulled his wand. In a flash, Professor Savoy made his way across the room. The commotion between the older boy and the first years made them obliviously to his approach.

"Mr. Merrick, what, exactly, do you think you are doing?" asked Professor Savoy from directly behind the 5th year.

"It's Kearns!" the older boy ranted. "She sent a stinging hex so strong at Nathanial that he can't hold his wand! If she knew what that felt like, she wouldn't dare do it again!" the older boy snapped.

"Mr. Brentwood, do you think Ms. Kearns deliberately threw that curse at you?" asked Professor Savoy quietly, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the angry fifth year.

"Nah," the boy replied, shaking out his hand painfully, "she looked as surprised as anyone, and I could barely feel anything the first 20 times she threw the hex, Sir."

"Mr. Merrick, the next time you think you are going to teach Ms. Kearns a lesson, you better be prepared for an even for painful lesson from me, am I clear?"

"But she was just trying to hurt Nathanial!" the fifth year boy blurted out indignantly.

"Neither Ms. Kearns nor Mr. Brentwood's assertions support your theory. If you don't want a letter home…" Professor Savoy drawled home slowly, letting the meaning of his threat hang, "are we clear?"

"Crystal!' hissed the boy, seething, but putting away his wand. Jena eyed the older boy fearfully, but continued her lesson. The professor was glad that the tutoring time was almost up, and by the end of the holiday Jena could manage her own bag. It was miracle that none of the boys had managed to hurt or endanger the girl yet, but if today's class was any example, it could happen any day.

"Watch your cheek. Ms. Kearns has been more than obliging to you and your friends, and I will not have you take advantage of the fact she is too kind to complain by making her life miserable. Apologize, at once!" he ordered. Jena turned to him, about to say something, but one cool look from her normally amiable professor was able to stop her before a sound was uttered.

"I am sorry, sir." the boy said, but by the tone he could tell that nothing was further from the truth.

"Not to me." Professor Savoy corrected quietly. "It is Ms. Kearns that you erroneously accused."

"Sorry, Kearns." The boy intoned sullenly, and not very convincingly. The girl eyed both the Professor and her tutor warily, and nodded, averting her eyes. Professor Savoy sighed. It was clear in every move she was afraid or upset by the negative emotions around her, and was trying to get out of the focus of the Professor and her tutor, regardless of their intentions. Maybe, the break, with her being alone with her father would allow her to focus on being less paranoid. Somehow, he doubted it.

Jena's slow pace meant that she nearly always was in the last few students to arrive, which suited her has she got to set toward the back of the class, closest to the door. Graham has been silent for the remainder of the class, and she could sense waves of anger and resentment radiating off him like heat off the sidewalk on a hot summers day. She sighed inwardly. Graham had a hot temper and often ranted at her. Not that she didn't' often deserve it, but it felt 'madder' somehow this time, in a way she couldn't describe, and it made her a bit fearful of him. So far he had never raised his hand to her, but she couldn't say for sure that she thought that wouldn't happen at some point. She knew after the Christmas break that the boys would no longer be tutoring her. She had worked harder in the past 6 weeks than she had ever worked in her life; she wanted quit of the Gryffindor and before the petty strife they had brought to the Slytherins bloomed into something more.

She was the first to step through the doorway at the end of class, and Graham was on her before she could even turn to see if he was following.

"You think you can play your petty pranks on Nate and me not say anything?" he almost hissed as he accused the girl darkly, shoving the smaller girl to one side of the door way to allow her other classmates to exit. Mostly Gryffindors were leaving the classroom at first, and didn't pay any mind to Graham's hostile behavior. After all, they had seen him fly off the handle a number of times in the Gryffindor common room to no great calamity.

Graham studied the girl angrily, and watching her shrink away from him only enraged him more. Not only was she petty and vengeful, but she wasn't even trying to hide her guilt! How dare she? She had been waited on hand and foot for nearly two months, hardly even speaking to any of them, lording their ability to stay at school over them like an axe over the head of a dying man. No, this girl was as nasty as all the snakes, playing on her small size and faking this helpless routine to keep the professors on their ass. It wasn't fair, and he had enough! Just then he noticed it was the Slytherin first years exiting, and not wanting one of them to go tattling off to the professor, he grabbed her behind one elbow, and all but frog marched her down the corridor.

At first Jena wasn't surprised but the abrupt turn of events. The boys were all a bit impatient with her. Her small stature and recovering body had simply not allowed her the almost jog required to keep up with the older boys. She knew if they spent to long getting her to class and were late themselves and it got them extra work and detentions. She really didn't blame them for being resentful of her, and yet, yet, she wasn't able to move any faster. Often they dropped her stuff and ran, and at first she had to find another person willing to move her bag and lift it to table because she simply wasn't able to do so. But this was the first time that she was being accused of doing something untoward by one of the boys. Why did Merrick believe that she would do such a thing, she wondered desperately, but pure terror gripped her as Graham grabbed her by the arm and pulled her-normally not an uncommon occurrence, but this time, it was the wrong way, away from the other students. Like at Halloween...

A long moment of confusion as to what he was doing delayed the inevitable panic that this very angry boy, a boy that had hurt her before, was pulling her away from the other students. Jena breath caught in her throat as panic enveloped her. A small whimper of primordial fear was all that signaled the overwhelming wave that was enveloping her.

Nathan came out of the classroom just as Graham started pulling his class mate, and he heard a quiet, half gasp, half cry, and watched as Jena stumbled, only to see Graham yank her harder. The older boy, already known for a particular nasty streak in his pranking and a notoriously angry streak in his personality, pulled harder and almost growl something unintelligible deep in his throat. Uh oh, he thought, stopping abruptly, so that the students exiting behind him nearly ran into him. Surely, the boy would just give her a dressing down? But if so, why did he need to pull her out of sight? He really didn't think anything bad would happen to the girl, but then again, the Professor would be furious to think someone might be yelling at the snake for no reason, wouldn't he? And wouldn't the professor find out he, himself knew? The boy debated, a fear of being thought as a tattle tell warring with the fear of both the Professor wrath and his classmates upset causing him to pause several long moments.

"Hey, Nate – come on, were going to the common room for last round of exploding snap, before dinner, what are you waiting for?"

Somehow, going up and playing cards when Kearns was likely miserable, over something he was sure that she didn't mean made him feel bad. Very, very bad. He had to tell Professor Savoy.

"Nah, you guys go ahead. I have a question for the Professor." he temporized, and quickly ducked back into the classroom.

Professor Savoy was grateful that his classes were done, and that tomorrow morning the brats would head for the train, and he'd have a break. Certainly, he had found teaching DADA rewarding… it was easier to rejoice in the successes of his students when the failures didn't cause so much destruction and calamity, as it did with potions, and that failures were not directly linked to students not paying careful attention or following direction he mused as he neatly rolled up the scrolls from the top of his desk.

"Professor Savoy, sir?" came a hesitant voice from a lingering student, which broke him from his musings.

"Yes, Mr. Brentwood?" Professor Savoy watched as the boy gulped nervously.

"I… I thought you should know," he finally started bravely, "that Merrick grabbed Kearns and practically dragged her towards the Charms corridor. He looked really mad." He stated, his voice sounding uncertain.

Professor Savoy wasted no time in putting the pieces together. Obviously the older boy had been more stung by his dressing down than he realized.

"Thank you Mr. Brentwood. Five points to Gryffindor for astutely realizing a situation that might otherwise get out of control." He lauded as he made his way hastily toward the door. "You may return to your common room." He didn't wait to see if the boy heeded him or not.

He quickly turned down the corridor in the direction of the Charms corridor, and rounded the corner just in time to see Jena shoved roughly through the doorway of an unused classroom at the far end. He quickened his steps to a near run.

Jena had offered little resistance in her panic as they had made their way quickly down the hall. There was tightness in her chest, and her eyes stung with unshed tears. A rushing noise filled her hearing, and her vision was weird, everything seemed washed out and far paler than it should. Coherent thought seemed to have escaped her, and she had a vague feeling that she should understand what this meant, but couldn't seem to piece it together in her mind. When Merrick stopped abruptly before a doorway, her brain ceased to function at all, as her breath caught in her throat. She stood frozen. He growled something at her, she couldn't comprehend what, and then he grabbed her by the arm again and bodily propelled her into the room. She couldn't keep her feet, and stumbled headlong in the room, falling to the ground. She had just enough sense to try to catch herself, most of her weight falling one hand, jarring her healing shoulder, hard. Pain snaked through her back, and instinctively she scrunched toward the wall, hunching her back and shoulders, trying to protect her head and stomach.

Graham watched as the girl stumbled to the floor, and she huddled away from him, like some cowering dog. Disgusting, he thought, for her to be such a coward. She had been avoiding this type of confrontation through the whole helpless act, but he knew better. She wasn't going to get away with it this time. He pulled out his wand.

"Get up! If you think your pathetic helpless act is going to save you from what you got coming to you, you can think again. I am sick of it, and I don't buy it for a second. When I am through with you, you will never try crap like this again, do you hear me?" the boy raged.

Jena braced for a blow to fall. She didn't understand what was happening, but the tone of voice and the sudden isolation she did understand all too well.

Professor Savoy arrived at the entry way of the classroom, clearly hearing the threatening tone and words of the 5th year. The site of the small Slytherin cowering in fear against the wall, and the older boy pointing his wand at her fueled his own anger, but he knew that is what neither child needed right now.

"Mr. Merrick, what is the meaning of this?"

The boys fury had built to a point that the sudden arrival of a professor did not mitigate is unrelenting ascension. The, wand already raised, turned toward the Professor somewhat threateningly. The man known as Savoy had spent the majority of his previous life as a Death Eater. A mere 5th year was not going to catch the professor unaware. A small wave of his hand was all it took to cast a wandless, nonverbal body bind. The boy froze, mid-cast.

"That, Mr. Merrick, may have been even more stupid than dragging Ms. Kearns here in the first place." He stated dryly, and then turned to the small form huddled against the wall. Knowing the child would respond to his anger as well as the idiot boy's behind him, he strengthened his occulmancy shields and shoved his anger firmly behind them.

He crouched down, both knees protesting the motion. At 38, he was definitely too young to be in such rickety state, but the last 20 years at war had done his body no favors, he thought grimacing, but quickly shoved those thoughts aside to address the child in front of him.

"Jena?" he asked softly, waiting to see if she would respond before touching her. If she responded, this would take a lot less time… but no such luck. He gently touched the girls shoulder, and she didn't flinch, which was generally a good sign, but he was concerned that there seemed to be no resistance whatsoever. He gently pulled her away from the wall, and turned her toward him. The first thing he noticed was that her eyes were scrunched shut, and her lips were tinged with blue, he glanced down at the girls hands, which were clenched in toward her chest… only the thumbnails were visible but they too held a bluish tinge. The child was not breathing.

"Jena," he called trying to keep the panic from his voice as he pulled his wand. His quick diagnostic charm told him the child was in a full blown panic attack, and wasn't breathing. He gathered the distraught girl to himself, so that her back rested against his chest, and he was back to the wall to support both of them.

"Jena, breathe, child. Not breathing is doing neither of us any good," he commented dryly. "Just breathe. Feel my chest rise and fall, and release your breath with mine. Come on, you can do it." He continued on with what he hoped was a soothing litany for what felt like an interminable amount of time, until he felt the first shuddering exhale.

Whether her breathing was because he reached her though her panic or because she finally lost consciousness, he couldn't be sure, but he continued his soothing words until he felt the child relaxed completely.

Once he was sure she was out of immediate danger, he regarded the silent and motionless 5th year before him, who had just witnessed the entire ordeal. He was both uncomfortable with the fact that the older boy had witnessed such a thing, and annoyed to be forced in this position in the first place. The child in his arms tensed again, and then began to tremble. He sighed, trying to push his more negative emotions behind his occulmancy shields yet again.

"Child, you are going to be the death of me." He murmured quietly, his brow furrowing as he pondered his current predicament. He needed to get the boy to the Headmistress and dealt with, and the girl in his arms to his office for some potions, and likely to bed or dinner, but how to accomplish either of those things… in his previous life, he would just summon the Headmaster with his patronous, but now? The Headmistress would absolutely recognize his patronus. He could unfreeze the boy, but if he yelled and upset Jena again, that would be rather counter-productive.

"Whisky!" he called out, to be rewarded with the sharp 'pop' of an apparating house elf.

"Yes, Master?"

Savoy snorted at the ridiculous title. The house elves, being magical creatures, sensed his true identity, and somehow, they knew that he didn't want his cover blown, and their compromise was to refer to him as 'master' even though he owned none of them. Well, it was a small thing, and likely not to be picked up by the rest of the world.

"Whiskey, could you please bring the Headmistress with all due haste? Please let her know there is a student situation that needs addressing.

"Of course, Master. Whiskey go!" and with another sharp 'pop', the elf was off again.

He narrowed his eyes at the boy, who was still completely rigid, and deciding to ignore the brat for now, turned his attention back to Jena.

"Jena? Are you better now? The child still had her arm hugged to herself protectively. He gently took her right hand, knowing that his diagnostic indicated she had jarred this shoulder and pulled it gently away from her body. She let him do so with no resistance.

"Jena, the shoulder is paining you, isn't it? Can you tell me what happened?"

"I'm sorry." The child said in a harsh whisper.

"Why are you sorry, Jena? Can you tell me what happened?" he asked gently. But the child remained silent again.

"Jena, please tell me what happened."

"I… I made Merrick angry. I am sorry." She whispered and turned her head into his chest, as if she could burrow there and hide from the world.

"It's alright, Jena, I know you didn't want to make him angry, and that's not really the problem. There is nothing to be sorry about." He felt the small shake of the child's head, but whether that was to disagree with his statement or to respond to some other sort of internal stimuli, he couldn't be certain.

"Jena, did you come here by yourself? Did you willingly come here?" he asked quietly, even if he knew the answer. He needed the child to start looking at the world from a more rational view point. She was likely blaming herself for this whole mess.

A brief shake of her head was all the answer the professor received.

"A verbal answer if you will." He asked, straining himself to be patient.

"No, I didn't come here. He… he had my arm and he pulled." The child explained haltingly.

"It's alright Jena. Just keep taking deep breaths. You are not in any trouble." He said soothingly. "As soon as the headmistress sorts young Mr. Merrick out, we will get your shoulder sorted out as well."

He felt a violent flinch at the word "Headmistress".

"Please…," the child replied somewhat desperately but didn't seem to have the courage to finish the phrase.

"What is it child?" he questioned quietly. The sooner he could get the child to express her concerns without prompting the better she was going to be in the long term.

"He will just be angrier if something bad happens. Please… don't get him in any trouble?" the child whispered, unable to find the bravery to look him in the eye, but wanting, no needing to de-escalate the situation, and get rid of the fetid, rotting anger that surrounded her.

"Jena," he said admonishingly, "he hurt you, for no good reason. He has had many chances. If we do nothing now, we are just telling him that behavior is acceptable. It is not acceptable to allow people to hurt you. You do not deserved to be hurt. Do you understand?"

For the first time in since the ordeal began, Jena made eye contact, her piercing gaze drilling into his soul. He realized it was not her seeking out his emotions, but for the first time, he saw some of the anguish that had built up in the child from years of abuse and neglect. The very nature of the gaze told him that no, she didn't understand. People had hurt he her whole life, and if it wasn't acceptable, then certainly she had never seen any evidence to the contrary. And if she didn't deserve, what then? Cold resignation was in the child's eyes, as well as fear; if she didn't deserve it, then why did it happen to her? Pure random chaos of the universe? And as for most children, the idea that the world was such an unpredictable place was just simply to frightening – he saw in a flash of resignation in the child's eyes that she did indeed believe she deserved it. She looked away. What he saw in that brief instant was enough to make a strange tightness in his own chest. Thank Merlin for occulmancy shields. He didn't want to ponder the meaning of those feelings.

"But I made him angry…" she whispered uncertainly, after many moments.

"Don't you dare make excuses for the boy. You didn't 'make' him anything. Do you know how you made him angry, if that was truly the case?" he asked, trying to keep his voice both firm enough to let her know he was serious, but gentle enough not for her to withdraw. She shook her head again.

"Jena, verbal answers please."

"I… uh, no. I don't think so…"

"Exactly. He was getting 'revenge' but you haven't a clue for what. I am sure he has made up some horrific wrong you have committed, but you have done nothing wrong." He waited until her shaking ceased before addressing her again. "Are you feeling better now?" he asked quietly.

Yes. Wha...what happened to me? I couldn't see and I thought…" the child's statements were still coming haltingly, but he was relieved she was indeed able to communicate. He waited patiently for her to continue her thought. "I thought I was somewhere else for a moment.

"You had a panic attack, Jena, likely triggered by a past memory of a similar situation. They happen to some people." He explained quietly. Realizing how the child was likely to interpret his statement, he hurriedly continued, "And it isn't your fault. They just happen." The child considered his words at length, but simply nodded once, and relaxed a little bit more in his arms.

He heard the unmistakable footfalls of the Headmistress echoing down the corridor and

realized the undignified position he was in, sitting on the floor, back against the wall, child settled between his splayed legs and huddled against his chest in a protective embrace. If he was in his previous incarnation, he would have sprung to his feet, emotional well being of the child be damned, and met her standing, cool and collected. He felt the small tremors still coursing through the small child's body, and was relieved that in his new role, new things mattered. He would not disturb the child yet. She frightened easily in the face of authority, and the Headmistress, he had discovered a new view of his old friend, found through his new lease on life. She was a bit of an obtuse blunderbuss. No wonder the Potter brat had never able to see the obvious! He sighed and waited.

"Mr. Merrick?" questioned the Headmistress, entering the classroom. "Oh, petrified, are you? Never mind then. Professor Savoy, what is the meaning of this? Whiskey just fetched me from the Staff lounge."

Professor Savoy sighed as the child in his arms trembling increased ten-fold at the headmistresses stern tone. Seeing no hope for it, he scooped Jena's small frame into his arms, cradling her protectively against his body as if she were a much younger child, and turned to the Headmistress. "I will deal with my Snake; you can get the story out of your Gryffindor." He stated shortly, and purposely strode from the room.

The Headmistress stood on the spot, agape, watching the Professor's retreating back. The man sometimes reminded her so much of the former aloof head of house and colleague of 20 years… but Severus Snape would never have 'snuggled' a student to his chest, the humorous thought easing the pain of loss at the remembrance of her old friend.

"Mr. Merrick, you have some explaining to do."


	26. Chapter 26 Trains

Disclaimer:

Feeling pretty good about an almost weekly posting….uh, yeah, just two weeks in a row-I promise I won't get cocky.

Not JK Rowling, but if you are reading this I am sincerely giving you the benefit of the doubt as to the fact that you already know that. First of all, this isn't as good, secondly, she killed Snape (working on forgiving her for that!).

On with the story…

Professor Savoy quickly headed down to the dungeons; the first year student perched on a hip, her arms resting loosely around his neck, carrying her as he would a much younger child. Her light burden hardly decreased his pace, which made him sigh in frustration. He had toyed briefly with the idea of taking the child to the hospital wing, and quickly discarded it. She needed a minimal amount of physical healing, which was completely within his capabilities, but what she really needed was space to release the fear that has gripped her and some time to recompose her. His office, which she had down most of her physical therapy in, was likely his best bet. He had ready access to his lab there, too, and could grab her a calming draught and anything else she might need. He cringed at the idea that tomorrow, the child would board the Hogwarts Express, meet the idiot social worker, and face her abusive father. Lovely.

Jena realized on short order they were headed into the dungeons. She was secretly relieved – she hated the hospital wing, but remembered her resolve from her last meeting with the professor that she would not to use up Professor Savoy's time and resources. It brought the tears that were threatening to the fore again, and she took a deep, shuddering breath to quash them. She was more or less successful.

"Sir," she tried, but her voice cracked, and the professor shushed her gently. Maybe this once, she could let him do this for her, and try not to need anything more. She felt useless; again, knowing her very existence was a huge burden. She could feel the man's tiredness, something she associated with more than just physical work, but a bone weariness that seemed to eat at him from time to time. She figured it was her fault. This must be what she did to people, to make them not want to be with her. She couldn't quite admit to herself that it made her unlovable. It just hurt too much.

Professor Savoy carried the child into his office, and rather than sitting her down on a chair, placed her carefully on the edge of the desk.

"Don't try getting down just yet, Jena." Professor Savoy ordered gently, when her first instinct was to scout a path down from the table. "You twisted your ankle some when you fell and I want to treat that too." he explained quietly, as he reached for the liniment he did her shoulder therapy with.

"I think if we give you a swelling potion, and do your therapy; it will sort the shoulder out. But for now, drink this." He ordered quietly, watching her carefully as one hand shakily took the vial. She swallowed the calming draught without question or complaint. She kept her eyes downcast.

He went through the more familiar motions of providing her therapy, gently rubbing the liniment into the joint and then having her push against his greater strength, then pull against his hand at various angles, working the muscles and ligaments, keeping them limber yet allowing them to strengthen, making sure the tissues did not become inflamed. The soothing, repetitious nature of the therapy, which, combined with the calming draught, seemed to get the child on much more stable emotional footing. He then gently removed her shoe, and applied the liniment, rubbing that deep into the muscles surrounding the ankle. He winced inwardly at the sight of her ankle; it as very black, and he was certain a tough regimen of chores awaited her from her 'rehabilitated' father, so it was unlikely she would be able to say off of it. Perhaps he could send her with some potions, he mused. He shook his head slightly at the thought. What of her father, and perceiving outside interference? He looked at her lowered eyes, and bowed countenance, and sighed. It was just 3 weeks. The child could survive 3 weeks of that – she had after all survived 11 years, most of it much worse.

They had completed the procedure in near silence. The child seemingly lost in thought, the professor trying to watch her surreptitiously, and gauge how to best help the child.

"Jena, I am sorry this happened, today of all days. The next few weeks will be difficult, and this didn't help." He spoke softly remaining crouched. When she didn't lift her gaze, he reached gently for her chin, and brought her eyes to his.

"I know you don't want to go to your Father's – it is not the solution that I would have preferred as well, but there is no recourse. However, I want to send you with some potions. Keep them in your trunk, and only use them when absolutely necessary. Do not let your father know they are there. You are a sensible girl, and I know you will do what you can to avoid your father's ire. Just know that it will be different without him drinking, and be watchful. Ms. Dougherty is supposed to check on you. I expect that if you are sick or injured, regardless of the cause that you will tell her, or I will be most displeased. Do you understand?" The child nodded her acquiescence.

"One of these days you will remember that I do require verbal answers?" he said, but was careful to keep any venom from his voice.

Jena looked at the man. She could feel the concern and regret radiate of him, and some long, deeply buried anger, but mostly just weariness. He was so very, very weary. Because of her.

"Yes, sir." She replied, her sight blurring with unshed tears. Professor Savoy gave her a half smile.

"It's alright Jena, it's going to be alright." He reassured.

But Jena was overwhelmed with an aching sense of foreboding. She didn't believe that it was going to be alright. She didn't think it would ever be alright.

Professor Savoy called upon Whiskey for dinner, and dined with the still apprehensive girl quietly. He was able to gently chide her into a reasonable quantity of food, given her level of upset, and felt that, if anything, this alone justified the calming draught. Shortly after dinner, a soft knock on his office door was answered to find Austin in the doorway with an uncertain smile on his face, holding Jena's book bag, and a scroll. He summoned the first year to the door, and asked Austin to see her safely to her dorm, and to the train depot tomorrow. Jena had remained silent.

Jena went straight to her room. She caught the normal jeers, which were strangely silenced by sharp words from Abernathy this time, as Austin led her to her actual dorm. He waited patiently while she readied herself in the bathroom, and helped her into the large 4 poster. She didn't need help getting up on the bed now; her shoulders, despite today's abuse were much better, but his kindness didn't go unnoticed. She thanked him quietly, the first thing she had really said to him.

"Jena – tomorrow at breakfast, sit next to me, and stay close. Alright?" he asked quietly. She gave him that bird-like piercing stare. Worry, apprehension. Anger. Kindness, remorse. The older boy's feelings were tumultuous, but her anxiety over that was not enough to block out the upset of the last few hours, and the growing foreboding of the morrow. She felt helpless and confused. Tears finally broke.

"Jena, what is it?" asked the worried boy anxiously and the younger girl's tears, but she could only shake her head and shrug. What was 'it', really? She didn't know, and was simply too tired to figure it out. She felt stupid and vulnerable crying. She was never supposed to cry, but… she could do simply nothing else, and nothing more.

"It's alright Jena. Just close your eyes and try to sleep." The boy waved the lights dim, and after a moment's hesitation, raised a silencing charm. The kid should be able to cry without being embarrassed, he thought. And maybe they would get lucky and she wouldn't have any nightmares.

Jena would have no such luck.

Nebulous, terrifying, indistinct. Channels swept out before her, something ran along the channels, dark and light, incomprehensible, thoughtless, all-powerful. Terrifying. Something she needed lay upon the channels, but one after another was blocked, she couldn't traverse it, the power running in the channels swept her toward things that terrified her and away from things she desperately needed, like a bevy of whirlpools in a raging river driving her both toward the rocks that would bash her body to bits, and the boat that would carry her beyond the rivers rage. She wept, helpless, not understanding what was happening, what this was, where this existed, and then she was awake, gasping. Tired, it was still dark, the middle of the night and not the first time she woke in terror. She was exhausted, and she tried to relax again.

Morning found her barely better rested then when she had gone to bed. She showered and dressed wearily, and headed to breakfast. She didn't know what being at her father's' house would entail again this time, but who knew when she was likely to eat again. She determinedly was going to make a show of eating a full meal.

Austin met her at the entrance to the Great Hall, his normally kind expression serious. "Sit next to me, and avoid the Gryffidors" he murmured quietly, as he ushered her in. The hall was only partly full at it was early for breakfast on the day before the holiday. He seated her next to Abernathy. For all his faults, Austin trusted him to do his prefect duty and that meant making sure the Gryffidors didn't pull anything.

"Why are the Gryffindors acting like that?" Jena asked tentatively, shooting a nervous glance toward the Loin's table. Several of the younger boys were shooting her nasty glances, which would have been easy enough to interpret even if she didn't' feel the loathing coming from the table in waves.

"Graham Merrick was expelled last night, Jena. I am not sure what they were told, but they are blaming you. The prefects were told. Nothing is going to happen, don't worry, but it doesn't hurt to stick close."

She sighed sadly and looked at the porridge. It was warm and bland, and likely the only thing she would be able to stomach this morning. She tried to keep her head down. The sense of foreboding she started feeling yesterday was intensifying, and she kept feeling a weird sliding sensation, and getting flashes of the 'channels' dream… she didn't know what it meant.

Somebody said something – Jena was too distracted to catch what, and Abernathy was suddenly on his feet. "What, Boyer, nothing to say? Easy to push around a little kid, but not so easy to face a real man? That's right sit down and shut it!" He apologized grandly as he reseated himself, which made Austin roll his eyes. Jena thanked him; she was honestly thankful, the situation was driving her to distraction. The morning went by in a blur. If Austin hadn't been leading her around, she wasn't sure she would have been able to get anywhere, or get anything done.

It was cold outside, and the shock of the wind through her light weight cloak brought her out of the muddled haze she seemed to be in. Merlin, she was going to the train station. Was it really so soon? She shuddered, more in anticipation than the cold.

Austin was very worried. Jena was hardly responsive. When she answered direct inquiries, it was in single words and short nods. She did as she was instructed, but slowly, and with distraction. He wasn't sure what to do, but between getting her gathered together and his own belongings and assignment put to rights; he hadn't had time to consult their Head of House.

Professor Savoy was conflicted. He was looking forward to the break… he had many things to parse out. He needed to examine the new prophecy at length, and maybe get in to speak to Dumbledore's portrait. He had a mastery exam to sit for, and he had some potions to brew. But foremost on his mind was a small, grey eyed, mousy looking girl who was too somber and too earnest by half, and her mysterious tattoo, her poorly understood gift, her wonky, oddly weak magic… there was so much there. And the more mundane to tend with; lesson plans, his own research.

He would have to get organized. It was twenty to noon. He needed to get down to the platform and supervise the student departure. He shouldered a small satchel. It had a small selection of mild potions for the girl. Maybe she would be well when she returned from the break.

Professor Savoy found Jena sitting on her trunk at one end of the platform, waiting for the older snakes to board. It was tradition for the Slytherin's anyway, to board by age, there by make sure the oldest, and often the wealthiest got the prime seats. Jena had proven herself very deferential… it got her ignored by the oldest kids, taunted by the mid-years, and a combination of the two from the older years. Mr. Murphy had all but adopted the child as his long lost sister, and Abernathy was working on recruiting her as his personal house elf. He growled in his throat at that. Yet another thing about the girl he needed to address, with no more time and resources to do so. He sighed. The child was staring out into space, and only brief twitches of her eyes and head making it clear that even in her distractible state, she was allowing nothing to escape her. Her eyes met his, briefly, her gaze piercing, but suddenly distant, and fearful. She wasn't herself. He quickly strode across the platform.

"Ms. Kearns?" he questioned more sharply than he intended, his fear of her unstable emotional state being amplified by his fear of her uncharacteristic expression.

She shook her head sharply, like she was trying to clear her vision, which, he cringed was possible. What more could go wrong with this child?

He waited patiently for her to speak again, knowing that insistence often made her withdraw.

"I saw something…" she stated confusedly, and then looked about furtively, with a bit of confusion. "It's not here or at least not here now…"

"What was it, child?" he questioned when she fell silent for too long, and he was afraid she wouldn't continue.

"I don't know. I guess, it was imaginary?" she asked questioningly, mostly for herself.

He sighed. The train left in five minutes, and she was one of the last snakes to get on the train.

"Let's get you on the train, Jena." He said, trying to force more patience in his tone.

She moved slowly. "Wait. Sir? Please, I can't…"

He winced inwardly, trying to pull up his occulmancy shields, and hide his emotions and expressions from the child. He had been fearful of this over the past two days, of her growing attached to him, being her rescuer from the trauma and then resistant to leaving. He did not want her attached to him – he didn't want the responsibility, but he also didn't want her to completely break down, and was finding trying to walk the precarious balance tiring.

"Jena, let's get you on the train." He said a bit more firmly, cutting her off.

"No, please, wait sir, sir," she said forcefully, as he straightened from reaching for her trunk. He was caught by surprise – the child had never been defiant before,

"I'll get on the train," she explained in a rush realizing how forceful her desperate request had sounded, and not wanting to draw her Head of House's ire, "but I saw…" she trailed off. She couldn't explain it – she didn't know what it was herself. But the Professor was definitely tired of her and losing patience. She had to get on the train. The memory of the dream she just had, no not dream – something else, she was awake, wasn't she? She had been in the dream… of being trapped by a short, ugly little man, who had struck her, and told her to get to work, with the knowledge somehow in that vision, she couldn't get back to school, away from there – wherever 'there' was in the vision, of feeling unsafe…

"Ms. Kearns, we don't have time for theatrics." He stated waspishly, looking around. Her intense demeanor was starting to draw the attention of his other first years, and he needed to get her on the train.

Jena looked around as well, and dropped her voice.

"I'm sorry sir, but please, please, if… if I don't come back," she almost stopped as the Professor's gaze snapped back to her sharply, but raw fear and an overwhelming sense of foreboding caused her to plow on, "or if I can't come back, please, will you come get me?" Her voice had dropped to a desperate whisper. She didn't know why she was asking, why she desperately needed this, but ever fiber of her being told her that she needed this, she needed it more than food, water or even the oxygen in her lungs. She held her breath, and looked away, scared what it would mean if the Professor said no.

To say Professor Savoy was stunned was putting it mildly. He saw raw desperation in the child's eyes that her very hope of another sunrise rested on this, his answer. How had the child become so attached to him of all people? If he said yes, what would come of it? The lout of a parent she had surely would want to be rid of her, especially if sober. Well, if it got her on the train…

"Yes child. If you aren't on the Express back, I'll come and check on you."

"Even if you don't know where I am at?" she asked hesitantly, but was moving toward her trunk, which the Professor took as a good sign.

"I'll find you Jena." He stated tiredly. After all, how hard would that be?


	27. Chapter 27  Father & Mastery

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and anything JK Rowling ever put on her wheaties are NOT MINE. I am making no money off this activity… blah blah blah! Don't sue me – I can't ever seem to get a lawyer to call me back, so it would be really awkward if you did.

Third weekly posting in a row – definitely back on schedule! I won't be posting next week, because it's my birthday Saturday, and I have plans.

Reviews for my birthday would be a nice gift… HINT, HINT! (Yeah, I'm pretty subtle about that type of thing…)

On with the story….

Jena had a quiet train ride. Austin had come by the apartment that she had been perched in, rolled his eyes at the odd assortment of 1st and 2nd year kids that were mostly loners she was seated with, and brought her to the prefect's car. Some of the prefects had rolled their eyes, and the Gryffindor prefect, Adam Malin, had observed her with a strange mixture of hostility and curiosity, but none had commented as he had hauled her small, second hand trunk next to his, and told her to take the seat next to him. It was snug, but being too close to Austin didn't frighten her, and she quickly got lost in her assigned DADA reading. She tried not to think of anything else, and was mostly successful until the train started to slow.

"I'll help you find the case worker," he said quietly, as he helped her off the train. They didn't wait long as the social worker quickly approached them, quite plainly in a hurry.

"Jena! Well you made it. Now we must hurry, I have to get you to your house and back to the Ministry for an intake. Thanks for helping your classmate." She said dismissively to Austin, as she waited for him to hand the trunk over to Jena.

"Ms. Dougherty?" he questioned, a puzzled frown creasing his brow. "You do know that Jena can't pick up anything too heavy, and certainly can't manage a trunk just yet?"

"What? Oh, really? I think I read about an incident, but I didn't realize. Well of course, dear, let me shrink it."

"You can't do that. It has potions in it, and shouldn't be exposed to other magic." explained Austin, much to the irritation of the caseworker.

"You don't say. Well, hurry up then, Jena, because this will take longer than expected in that case." She grabbed the trunk and with a distracted nod trudged to a waiting taxi. Jena gave Austin a mournful look.

"Goodbye Austin." She said, her sense of foreboding crashing back against her awareness as if a huge wave had broken over her, tossing her emotions tumultuously as driftwood in high surf. She was desperately afraid she would never see him again. "Thanks… for everything." She barely managed, managing to hold back tears, but just.

"Not goodbye – see you in 3 weeks Jena. Keep your head down and stay out of trouble. Get that homework done." He gave her a good natured, one- armed hug as he managed his own trunk. She noticed Matilda staring at her somewhat heatedly, and couldn't figure out her anger, but the sour look that Marissa Dougherty was giving her was unmistakable.

"Hurry up, Jena. I don't need to be later than I am already." She stated distractedly, and pushed the trunk into the boot of the car.

Jena tried to recall her long walk to the train station as the car sped toward her father's house. She remembered fear and pain, but little else- and that all seemed like a lifetime ago. She was apprehensive about the muggle contraptions, but tried to sit still. Marissa was nervous and irritated. Jena tried not to look at her. She was jotting things on a scroll, and so mostly ignored her presence.

"Here'n it tis, Ma'am", said the taxi driver, in a heavy accent that Jena was completely unfamiliar with. "Aren' ya sure this is bein' where yers wantin to git at?" he said. Jena realized the Manor which was clearly visible to both her and Marissa wasn't to the driver, and wondered at what he saw instead.

"It's fine. We are going bird watching and a picnic in the woods. I'll just grab our trunk." said the case worker to the muggle taxi driver irritably. She paid the man, and huffed with the trunk all the way to the door, muttering something about deadbeats who should pick up their own children. Turning slightly to see Jena had caught up with her; she pasted a false smile to her face, and addressed the girl.

"Here we are Jena. Don't expect your father to be perfect, but I think with some hard work on your part, you can prove to him that you are worthy of being in his family, and then things will be much easier. You'll see."

Jena averted her eyes. Would it be easier, now that her father wasn't drinking? Likely not, since she had very few memories of her father sober and those memories were of him being crueler and more demanding. What could she possibly do to prove that she was worth a family, anyway? That task seemed as impossible as the task Professor Savoy gave her earlier in the day. How was she supposed to be smart enough to avoid the man's ire? What had Professor Savoy meant by that, really? Her musings were cut off by the door being pulled forcefully open. Her father's brow was furrowed, and waves of loathing and irritation radiated off of him.

"Finally made it, I suppose." Lord Kearns said in a tone that would be evident to anyone that he rather wished they hadn't made it. Without inviting them inside, he spun around and stalked toward the parlor. Jena looked up hesitantly at the social worker.

"Jena, for goodness sake! You live here! Get in so I can set this trunk down, and greet your father properly." replied the Social Worker as if it were the most normal thing in the world for a woman and child to be left standing on a porch holding luggage without being helped in.

Jena hesitantly followed her father to the parlor, Marissa trailing close behind. She stepped in just as her father flung himself broodingly at the nearest wing back chair, near the fireplace. She heard a loud 'clunk' from behind her as Marissa set down the small trunk.

"Well, here we are, Lord Kearns!" she said, with mock enthusiasm. "Jena, what do you have to say to you father? Certainly, you can greet him properly."

Jena's gaze flew to the case worker as quickly as her father's.

"Jena? What kind of a name is that?" he asked gruffly, clearly startled.

"Hello Father." She said, but her eyes did not leave the social worker's. Surely, she didn't expect her to… what, exactly? Run in and embrace him? Her hands started to shake. She didn't know what was expected; what was she supposed to do?

"Lord Kearns, the students have been calling your daughter "Jena" as a nick name, and she seems to prefer it. There isn't a name on her birth record, so it seemed harmless. If you would rather she use her real name, I'd like to jot it down for the record, anyway." She said, smiling placidly.

"There isn't a name, because there isn't a record. She didn't come here with a name, and I didn't intend on giving her one. It's enough she got my last name." he muttered darkly.

"Oh, come now, Lord Kearns, surely you want to have a hand in naming your daughter?" she replied with a nervous little laugh, having just spent the last few moments fishing a note pad and never out quill from her pocket.

"Jena, you said? Fine, the brat got it, the brat can keep it, for all I care." he intoned waspishly. "Are you leaving?" he asked the social worker.

"Lord Kearns, now, we discussed this. You must treat your daughter as a part of this household. Now may we try again?" she stated, her voice sickly sweet.

"Welcome 'home', Jena." he stated with s sneer. "There, satisfied?" he snapped at the social worker.

"Quite!" she replied primly, "Now if you will just show Jena the accommodations you got ready for her and I can check off my list and be on my way."

The man stared at the woman blankly for a moment, and Jena felt disbelief and then fury from the man. Without speaking, he stormed out of the room. The case worker made a shooing motion for Jena to follow. She turned and did so reluctantly, seeing no hope for it. This farce had become a comedy of her real life, and all she could foresee was a tragic, inevitable ending. The man stood tapping his foot at the storage room, which a loud thud had told them that he had thrown the door open. Jena approached the entry hesitantly.

"There! A bed and a desk, as you said!" Lord Kearns snapped out before storming down the hallway to the service entry to the kitchen as Jena watched stomach plummeting. She turned slowly and saw that the storage room had all the spare furniture and boxes stacked in a looming tower against one wall. A single bed, the type that folds in half and goes in a closet and isn't fit for house elves let alone anyone over 4'11 was pushed into the corner, and a small table, likely from a school was shoved against the nearest wall to the door with one of the big bulky dining room chairs crammed underneath it. The weight of the table had to be resting on the arms of the chair, and Jena suspected by looking at it she would not be able to pull out the chair – well, not at least until her shoulders were much better. The bed was covered by sheets and a dingy blue blanket that was frayed in places and had definitely seen better days.

"Look! Your new room, Jena, and isn't it just cozy? Everything is just your size! Your dad put a lot of work into getting this ready for you!" the social worker enthused.

Jena looked at the woman blankly, in shock. Jena hadn't expected much, and in fact, this was more than she expected, however, somehow she doubted the man had gone through much trouble. Arguing with the woman seemed particularly futile, and fear held her tongue. Her father might hear, after all.

"Well, I am just going to check the kitchen. Your dad had to take a pretty hard course on nutrition, and he has all sort of healthy food just waiting for you! Let's just go see!"

Jena watched in complete disbelief. The woman might have just announced that she had won a lottery and was filthy rich, or that the Grand Muguwump himself was coming to dinner. She hesitated, about to express her reticence, before the woman firmly grabbed her shoulder and spun her. Jena winced. It wasn't that it hurt, exactly, but her shoulders were still extremely sensitive to pressure. There was no way she could squirm out of the grip.

"Ah, here we are!" declared the young case worker as she steered the young girl through the door. Her father was leaning heavily against the drain board, arms crossed across his broad chest, a look of complete loathing on his face. Even without the expression, Jean was nearly reeling from the loathing, hatred, anger and animosity emanating from the man; her stomach tried to rebel with her terror and make her breakfast she had consumed make a second appearance, but she was able to swallow back the bile.

"See, grains, fruit, and nuts, just what a growing girl needs. She crossed to the ice box. "Milk and cheese too! See how much your dad wants to take care of you?" gushed Marissa, nodding vigorously.

Jena slowly nodded, much as one would humor a psychotic person. In the cupboard had been a small package of oats, a small box of almonds, some dried berries and the cold cupboard had a pint of milk and some cheese. It was maybe enough food for a small child for a week. Jena might be able to stretch it if she were careful to two if she ate meagerly and skipped most meals. However, if her dad ate from that stock, it would last a few days at most. She said nothing. It was obvious that only the surface had changed. Maybe, 3 weeks with few injuries and she would be in school again.

"Now, remember that she needs fresh foods, too, such as fresh fruit and vegetables, but of course you know that, and will likely go to the market soon. Correct, Lord Kearns?" asked the social worker, her voice sickeningly sweet again.

"Ain't much hope for it if I don't want he fact that the ministry declared me unfit to have an heir, isn't?" asked the surly man, clearly getting deeper and deeper into his anger. Jena shuddered involuntarily.

"Ah, ah, now, Lord Kearns. That sounded like blaming. We don't blame the child for asking for help." She said, as if she were reminding him that the milk had to be left in the cold case, or the mail needed correct postage. She was so dead. Jena looked for an exit. But the servant exit was behind her, and Marissa was blocking the way, and her father was in front of her. She was thoroughly trapped. She started to panic.

"Anything else you need to see?" the man asked in clipped tones.

"No, Lord Kearns. I can report that you did an admirable job preparing your home for the reintroduction, and have all her needs met. You should be very proud." Jena eyes were now trained on her father. The woman had a death wish.

Possibly sensing her impending death, the Case worker quickly excused herself. "Now, I'll let you two settle in. I just bet you just have all sorts of news to catch up on. No worry to see me to the door, I'll show myself out." The woman fled.

Jena's hesitant eyes finally met her fathers, and they were burning with the fury and hatred that she could feel from him in waves. She took hesitant step back.

"Stay still!" he ordered in a hiss, and she froze instantly.

He watched her intently. Jena heard the closing of the front door, and a faint 'pop' of apparition.

Her father continued to stare.

"You…" his jaw worked, but it was clear he was too angry to put together a coherent sentence just then. He took a deep breath and tried again.

"In 700 years, no Kearns has been accused of impropriety before the Wizengot. Do you know that bitch threatened to bring me on charges? That I would go to Azkaban? Because of you?" The livid man's voice got louder with each sentence. "What did you tell them?" he screamed.

"Nothing, sir, I swear. I just…" she tried frantically, trying to appease the angry man.

"You just snuck off, that's what you did, and lied. You are liar and a thief. Merlin only knows what you did for the Death Eaters… disgusting, worthless…" the man seemed to be at a loss for something vile enough to call her, she realized.

"Then you come into this Manor, disgrace the good name of Kearns with your meaningless complaints, and then strangers come into this home, telling me, the Lord of this Manor, how to feed and clothe my own offspring. If I could disown you to keep the Kearns name clean, I would. You have done more to disgrace this family then the last 10 generations combined. Your 'room' will remain perfect, because YOU will not touch it. You will stay in the elf nook. You will do your chores. You will stay out of my sight. Merlin help you if you don't say out of my sight." By the end of his tirade, Lord Kearns was breathing heavily bent close the brat's face. "And if you ever disgrace the name Kearns again with your vulgar lies, I will personally sell you to the men that brought you, and ask that they kill you and dispose of your remains." The man raised a hand and Jena ducked.

"Bloody hell! I can't even give you a proper thrashing!" he said slamming his raised hand as a fist on the counter. Jena looked up quickly when the blow she was expecting didn't fall. "Stay out of my sight unless you want me to kill you myself!" thundered the man, storming out of the kitchen.

Jena watched him leave helplessly, her knees weak with relief that she had survived the initial confrontation. Two weeks, 6 days she thought to herself mournfully. She knew her chores, and started to get her trunk, carefully checking the hallways to be sure her father was clear of it. She could do a good job of staying out of sight, if she were careful. She knew she would struggle with the weight of the trunk, but she had to get out of her school robes and get to work, so she slowly pulled it across the floor, down the hall and to the kitchen. Maybe getting her chores done would appease her father.

Professor Savoy entered the ministry cautiously. His mentor had said that his special transformation would fool any magical detection in existence, but a healthy sense of caution had kept him out of the ministry proper since assuming his new identity.

It has been 3 days since the beginning of winter break, and his Mastery was scheduled for 3 pm, and the process took 6 hours. He was a bit surprised it started so late; perhaps it was the number of applicants. In that case his observer would be tired, and likely easier on him, not that he was worried. In his previous life time, he had been the youngest potions master in literally centuries, and had received the highest level of Mastery. He, in his new incarnation, found that it wasn't stinging his pride as badly as he thought it would to go for a lower endorsement. Not that he felt anyone was really suspicious of his dual identity, but one could never be too careful.

He took the lift to proper room, agilely dodging the small airplanes that were winging through the air. An older witch sat slumped at a desk covered in various parchments.

"Good Day Madam. I am Professor Savoy, and am here to sit for the Mastery Exam". He introduced himself politely, but it got little reaction from the witch.

"Think we were expecting a flotilla at 3? I knew who you were when you showed up. The Master will be in lab 3. Get to it." She said gruffly, not even raising her eyes.

Professor Savoy narrowed his eyes slightly, but didn't think it would do any good to confront the witch on her rude behavior, and made his way to the lab. The lab was quite dark, with only a few candles scattered widely around the space, but in the dim light appeared to be clean and well stocked.

An old creaky voice caught him by surprise, as a small, stooped balding wizard made his made his presence known from across the lab.

"I am Master Aeridus. You may begin."

Professor Savoy was caught completely off guard.

"Aeridus? I… I have heard of you." He stammered, uncharacteristically shaken. Aeridus was his old Master, the very Master the Dark Lord had paid for him to be apprenticed to.

"I had read of your retirement many years ago." He temporized, trying to slow the beating of his heart, and keep a very calm visage. Actually, he had gone to the man's retirement celebration.

"Damn ministry pulled me out of retirement. I have macular degeneration, you see, and am not brewing, but even with lousy eyesight I can tell if a potion is perfect. So you won't have any more light to work by, consider it a part of your exam. Start."

"Surely if you did not wish to come out of retirement, you could have refused?" he asked as he carefully shoved his circling thoughts behind his occulmancy shields.

"Damn Dark Lord killed off too many potions masters. There's a shortage. This is why you got your test so quick. Hop to it, Son, I don't have all night." He said gruffly, and retook his stool.

"What do you wish me to brew?" he asked, stepping up to the counter.

"The most difficult thing you can make with those ingredients," he replied, sweeping his hand toward the opposite counter, "and still have our arses out of her by 9. Gwenny doesn't like to stay late."

"Gwenny – she was the greeting witch?" he asked quietly.

"Yes. My wife – married her after my retirement since I finally had time for one. The Ministry can't get anyone else to work for me. They say I am a right bastard." He replied. It was clear by his tone that he could care less what people thought of him. One of the advantages of age, thought Professor Savoy as he surveyed the counter.

There were numerous ingredients and many; many complicated potions came to mind. His mentor had done a similar test for his first mastery, except even more ingredients, and he was able to choose a long-brew potions if he had wished. He had chosen Draught of the Living Death, and brewed it perfectly. He sighed, as if he brewed that exactly as he always did, there is no way the man who taught him to brew it wouldn't recognize who's work he was reviewing instantly. He was lost in his memories. At the time, his mentor had asked why he hadn't brewed the Draught of Peace, which used almost the exact ingredients, took less time, and was more likely to be needed. He had told his professor it was because the Living Death took more finesse. "Wrong." The man had replied, "You brewed it because the final spell needed required a peaceful mind and heart on the part of the brewer, and at your age, you have neither. You and both know that you will only brew shitty Peace, so be kind and don't lie to an old man."

Well, he had never been at peace more in his entire life than he was right now, and in his opinion, it was an easier potion than the Living Death, and he could brew it under the time limit. He began.

Professor Savoy had lost himself into the flow of the potion. Chopping, stirring, checking. All of his motions necessary, precise, measured. The Master continued to observe from a dark corner. The man's head followed his movements, but he was sure by the fact that the aim of his line of sight, the man's vision was very poor indeed. So he simply brewed.

Some 5 hours and minutes later, Professor Savoy centered his thoughts, brought up the calming image of Hogwarts at sunset in his mind and cast the final spell on the potion. It turned a prefect, soft lilac in color, and settled into a thick, quicksilver-like consistency. It was perfect. He bottled the potion, and started to finish tidying his space.

"Draught of Peace." The man, who had not moved from his stool, stated, speaking for the first time.

"Indeed."

"You know, I had a student, some 20 years ago, who couldn't brew it. Lousy family, lousy friends, no prospects, and in trouble way beyond his ears. I didn't expect him to live to see 25."

Professor Savoy froze at the words.

"He went on to help win the war. I never have been prouder of any of my students in my career."

Professor Savoy turned toward the little man, swallowing past a sudden lump in his throat, and watched has he raised himself creakily off the stool, walked slowly to the bench and picked up the bottled potion.

"Young man, you didn't think I could teach you for two years, and even blind, recognize who was brewing? You weren't going for full marks, probably out of some sense I wouldn't, or someone wouldn't figure it out. Bollocks. You get the same level I gave you 20 years ago. I wasn't wrong then, and you know it. I don't know why you wanted to have a new life, and don't really give a shit. But you earned that title, and you are going to keep it." The man turned from the potion, and slowly started his way from the room.

Stunned, Professor Savoy slipped his wand from his pocket. He was going to have to obliviate the man, and try the test again, but something stayed his hand. Respect for his old master and fear of what the spell would do to someone so old? Perhaps… but the feelings were uncomfortable, and he didn't have the time to ponder them just now. He returned his wand to its holster.

"Master Aeridus?" he said quietly, and the man paused at the door. "I'd prefer that you not share with anyone who you think I am."

"Oh, I'll share with them who I 'think' you are all right. Never shied away from telling people what I think A bull headed, stubborn, nasty tempered idiot, who made a mistake once, and made up for it a 100 times over. The best brewer in a century, and my finest student, who is apparently dead. Professor Savoy's paperwork will say top marks. The Ministry lackeys will think I am just being a nasty old codger, giving away marks you haven't earned out of spite. They would do well to learn that I don't care what they think. Good night, Professor." With that, the tiny man left the room.

Professor Savoy stood there a very long time, lost in thought.


	28. Chapter 28 A Working Girl's Christmas

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not mine, not mine, and I am not just speaking about republicans. Harry Potter, JK Rowling, and the rest you recognize are NOT MINE. I am making no money off this, so don't sue me.

**WARNING**: This story is rated M. There is bad language in this chapter, and if you squint funny and look at it sideways, implied prostitution, as well as child abuse. If this offends thee "cut it off" and go read something else.

A bit about the author in case you're curious: This is the first chapter with a Beta – who only reviewed the first 8K words. I am dyslexic – a mild case – so I had always intended to have one. Infinity Limited was actually the pen name chosen by my Beta (allowing her to be Infinity, and me to be Ltd – she's a perceptive one, really!), but she was slow to get on the job. Hopefully, this chapter being much more thoroughly reviewed will be worth the wait. Oh, and the fact that it's a double chapter at well over 10K words… there wasn't a logical break in the flow, and I wanted to get this part of my plot bunny killed in time for Easter dinner. Just made it!

Cheers,

Ltd.

Jena watched as the water boiled furiously and then dropped the small handful of oats into the water. Her father, whom she had successfully avoided, had not gotten into her small stock of food, except to drink all the milk. She had a bit of oats each morning, and either a few almonds or a small handful of dried berries with a bite of cheese each night. It was meager, but the food was filling. She was grateful that the professor had sent her three extra-strength nutrient potions. Although she was supposed to take them with food on Sundays, or so his note had said, she had figured out what approximately twenty-one portions would be and had been taking a small sip each night. If she could keep her strength up, and her chores done, then her father wouldn't have any reason to make good on his earlier threats, or so she hoped, anyway.

Her days had settled into a routine of sorts. Already accustomed to rising at dawn, she would make her meager meal of watered oats and start her chores. She would do things in smaller steps that could be quickly abandoned if her father appeared. Although her father went out for hours and hours at a stretch, she didn't want to be in the middle of something that couldn't be readily abandoned if he happened into a room in which she was working. Watching the weather carefully, she tended to the few things that she could do outside when the weather was fair. She worked until her evening meal, which she took shortly after dark, and then studied in her nook until the fire in the kitchen died down for the night. She lit the fire in the kitchen every afternoon; although her father had been eating elsewhere and she needn't be ready to cook. She supposed him eating elsewhere meant he didn't want her to have any more food available to her than she had already. However, she kept the fire lit as she remembered only too clearly the cause of her injuries at the beginning of the school year. She had been lucky so far and had managed to stay of the man's path. She fervently hoped her luck would hold.

It was Monday, and Professor Savoy sat in his office, contemplating the Ancient Runes teacher's compendium of dark runes. Well, it had taken quite a bit of persuasion to borrow the tome, which was irritating. It had been his in his earlier lifetime, after all, as Professor Severus Snape's estate left the books on his various non-potions topics to their respective teachers at Hogwarts, if still living at the time of the demise of the Dark Lord. Bathsheba Babbling's reticence to give him the book was clearly exasperating. She had had the nerve to intimate that her reticence was based on an overwhelming sentimentality for his former incarnation. He had toyed with the idea of legilmizing her to see what on earth she was thinking. She had been abrupt, overly proper, and occasionally downright hostile as a colleague, although his own behavior in his years at Hogwarts didn't lend itself to forming warm collegial alliances. But then, he thought shuddering, for the woman to have the gall to tell him that if it hadn't been for the war, that "we had a certain soul-level understanding, but tragically the war separated us. All these years I knew it… and look, he left me these valuable books that he treasured so much."

If that hadn't been horrific enough, the woman had eyed him almost approvingly and said that such romantic liaisons were 'quite common' in schools such as these, and had smiled suggestively at him. The woman was 5'2", with short curly hair, of indeterminate age and quite rotund. Not that any of that mattered, particularly, but she was, well… quite frankly not his type, and not in the least bit appealing on a personal level. Had her suggestive comments been delivered with subtly, it would have been a performance of a lifetime. Only twenty years of being a spy had kept the irritation off his face, and out of his voice. He had played the clueless man to a fault and gotten the book for his troubles.

However, his troubles had not ended there. Jena's tattoo was unique. There was a rune in the center vaguely like the dark mark, a simple skull without the snake, but the skull had snake eyes. The skull was bordered by a Celtic rune for "ancestral property" or "inherited," and that rune was bordered by yet another rune, this one inverted. Inverting a rune usually gave it an opposite interpretation, but he had no idea what happened when you combined the runes and inverted some and not others. What appeared at first to be three separate runes was actually at least seven, with some runes repeated and inverted. That was a very complicated spell in itself. Then, to have it set upon a magical creature, for all witches and wizards were exactly that, by an act of magic? The rune was powerful; no doubt about it, but the nature of its power was eluding him. Well, what he needed was an expert, and perhaps he could use the woman's delusional infatuation against her.

The former spy began to plot.

Jena woke from an uneasy sleep and heard her father come in late; long after she had finished her herbology essay and gone to bed. Her shoulders were sore and tired. Tomorrow, she would use her first potion and salve to ease the recovering joints that were complaining about to much work and too little rest, and the hard padding of her nook. She relaxed as much as she could as she listened carefully of the sounds of her father going about his nightly routine to make sure that he did not come into the kitchen.

With just over a week of the Christmas break gone, she had her herbology, transfiguration, and history of magic homework done, as well as the reading for DADA, but still needed to write her essay, and, of course, potions. Waking in the early morning darkness, she had started to get up and head toward the shower when she heard her father enter the kitchen. Her father rarely, if ever, came into the kitchen and never in the morning. She scampered back from the entrance, as his bulky frame lumbered in.

The man eyed her, but said nothing and stalked over to the barren pantry. He grunted something to himself and turned awkwardly to her.

"Use the last of the oats, and make us breakfast. Have it hot and on the table by eight." He ordered gruffly, and left.

Jena had no idea how to tell it was eight. He had pawned the only clock in the manor ages ago, she had no watch, and without being able to do magic outside of school, she couldn't cast a tempus. She immediately started making breakfast anyway. Better it be the wrong temperature than not ready at all. Jena tried to shove the worry about why the man would want to have breakfast with her anyway out of her mind as she lit the stove, and filled a pot with water. She placed the last of the almonds and fruit on the table so her father could use them as toppings if he wished, and put out the silverware. Her father re-entered the room, eyeing her mutely as she brought the porridge to the table. She stood their hesitantly.

"Sit down." He snapped, sitting in his own place and glaring at the cereal. He made no move to pick up his spoon either, so Jena sat there motionless. Minutes ticked by. It felt like centuries. She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap and her eyes on her hands. The man brought his pocket watch out for the second time in as many minutes. He got up suddenly, and Jena couldn't help but flinch, but he simply stormed by her, heading toward the front entrance. Jena could fell waves of anger, anxiety, and loathing. What could she do?

She heard the front entrance open, and slam shut, and her father's heavy tread return down the hall."

He stormed by her and she tried to suppress the flinch, but it was for not. He stopped.

"Cereal not good enough for you? I know what you are…" he said coldly. She could feel his glare cutting into her. She wanted to flee, but didn't know if it was safest to stay or run. She could feel his anger continuing to mount.

"Not answering me, huh? Not bothering to eat the food I provide, stuck here because of that damn bitch at the ministry, and my no good whore of a 'daughter' refusing a perfectly good breakfast, and ignoring me." His voice had become louder as he talked, and Jena scooted to the edge of the chair, preparing to run.

The blow fell swiftly enough that Jena didn't see it coming. He had been standing slightly behind her, just off her left shoulder. He had brought his hand down with great force, backhanding her to the side of her head, dumping her off the chair and sending her sprawling on the floor along the side of the table. Her vision was fuzzy for a moment as she sat stunned, and then started to scramble away.

"Sit still! That bitch from the ministry said she would be here at 8am. They said there were charms on the building that prevented me from drinking, and that if I hit you they'd know. I bet they lied. Bugger them! I will not live like a coward in my own house. I will discipline your worthless hide as I see fit. It's obvious that bitch has to reset the wards for them to work. No one cares about you, you worthless tramp, and it's about time you learned that." Running out of steam he sat heavily in front of the bowl of porridge, poured the remaining nuts and fruit on it and ate as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

Jena shifted slowly, so her back was against the dining room wall and her knees were pulled up tight to her chest. She moved cautiously, as she kept an eye on the volatile man at the end of the table. He didn't once look at her as he finished the meal.

Without looking at her, he threw his napkin on the table and strode out of the room. She heard him return to his room, and then storm out the front door, slamming it. The house was plunged abruptly into silence.

Slowly, Jena made her way to her feet and into the small guest loo off the parlor. From the middle of her cheek, up the side of one temple and around her left eye was completely red. She was going to have one hell of a shiner, she thought, biting her lip. Marisa had said they would know if anything happened. Did that mean the Ministry knew? Then she deserved this. Her father said that the wards had to be reset. Did that mean there was a ward that had prevented her form getting hit earlier and it had failed? Why wouldn't' the ministry come reset it then? She sighed quietly and turned from the mirror. Her head ached fiercely, but it didn't matter. She should clear the table, eat what she could, and get her chores started. It might appease her father, and she couldn't let what might be the last meal she'd get in days go to waste.

It was twilight when she stopped with her chores. Her father had not returned. She took an old cloth and dampened it with cool water, pressing it gently against her face. She was sure it looked a sight. The social worker had not shown up and neither had her father. She pulled her DADA book out, and some parchment to start her essay, but discovered that her vision was blurry in her left eye. She changed the position of the cloth so that it blocked the vision from that eye completely and began to write, the parchment resting against the book propped on her knees. The handwriting was awful, but she couldn't stand the thought of going to the table to do the work. She didn't get very far; it was hard to concentrate when your head was pounding. Maybe she should send a message to Professor Savoy? But hadn't he said to keep out of her Father's way, and not to make him angry? He might see this all as her fault, and in a way, it really was, wasn't it? He had said, however, that he expected her to tell Marissa if she was sick or hurt, but that would just make her father angrier. She sighed and put her school work away. Best to just wait for Marissa to show up. If Marissa thought this was ok, then she was just over-reacting. Her father had only bruised her and hadn't really hurt her. She considered using the healing draught that Professor Savoy had left in the bag, but it made her really nauseous to take it without food. No, it would be best to just go to bed. Jena did exactly that.

"Enter." Called Professor Savoy, as he was shelving the potion ingredients he had picked up at the Apothecary. He turned to watch the Medi-witch enter, who eyed his supply cabinet appraisingly as she returned his greeting.

"So…" she said, clearly curious.

"I passed my Mastery, and with high enough scores to make medical potions for children." He informed her quietly, allowing a small smile to remain on his face.

"I knew it! Congratulations, of course. I can't believe you went to the Apothecary the week of Christmas, though!" she exclaimed.

"My family is far off; I didn't have much shopping to do otherwise. It was no chore." He replied dismissively.

"Well, that in part is what I came to ask you about. My family hosts here, at Hogwarts every two or three years, and it's my turn again. It's just me, my husband, and a few friends. I was wondering if you would be interested. We turn the infirmary into a bit of a dining hall. It's actually quite festive…" The woman trailed off uncertainly studying the man's face. It suddenly went blank, as if devoid of all emotion.

"You are inviting me to your holiday celebration? You haven't known me all that long."

"I realize it's a bit short notice," replied the Medi-witch, "but I think I know you well enough, she said with a wry smile.

"I… I accept. Thank you for your gracious offer. What was the other part you came to ask me about?"

"Well," replied the Medi-witch, a blush staining her cheeks, "I have the potions list for the infirmary, with marks where I have no useable potions… oh, I feel so thoughtless giving you this during Christmas!" she said worriedly.

Professor Savoy allowed the small smile back on his face. "Ah. So I see Christmas dinner is payment in kind. How very Slytherin of you."

"Eugene!" the Medi-witch exclaimed, clearly scandalized.

"Now, Poppy, from the Head of Slytherin, that is quite the compliment."

The woman was clearly flustered by his antics, but the blush didn't quite fade from her cheeks. "Well, yes, but um, the list you see. I was wondering exactly how high your Mastery marks were…" she trailed off, not quite meeting his gaze.

"Why do you ask?" he asked, scanning the list in his hand.

"I am out of dreamless sleep for the infirmary." She replied. "Gertrude can't brew it, even if she would, I wouldn't trust it. Besides, she would simply tell me that she didn't have the mastery level for it to get out of making it, as she does with other complex potion requests."

The smile faded from his face. Did it give too much away to tell her that he received the highest mastery, and brewing psychotropics was not beyond him, even for children? Well, the children needed it, and his colleagues hadn't even been suspicious. But then, there was Master Aeridus, who had figured it out all too easily.

His thoughts, as they had been wont to do this break, turned to a scrawny, mousey haired first year, stuck in a hospital bed with a nightmare. Austin had told him Jena's nightmares had not eased. How could he do otherwise?

"I can brew it. I passed the highest Mastery level." He said, feeling a blush stain his own cheeks.

"Full marks?" she asked incredulously, "Without studying?"

"To be fair, the Master was quite blind, and a bit cantankerous. I am not sure I would have gotten it, otherwise."

"Still. Are you comfortable with the list?"

He made a show of glancing at it again, and summing up the list.

"Yes, I'll manage the list. Hmmm. Yes, and I see you prioritized it. How thoughtful of you." He replied dryly. "Our Christmas dinner will be spectacular, no doubt." He said pointedly, clearly making a mockery of his unsubtle hint that a good dinner would be required as payment in kind.

"I think I can handle the pressure, Eugene." She said, and laughing, waved herself out of his office.

Jena woke and started her day. Her father hadn't returned for three mornings. There was no food, and she was feeling light headed. She drank warm water to fill her stomach, and contemplated doing some chores. She knew she wouldn't starve to death, especially with the nutrient potions, but it certainly wouldn't be easy.

She was in the back of the manor attending to the magical washing when her Father came home. She tensed and listened. His foot fall was much heavier, and he was moving somewhat slowly. He was most likely drunk. Almost two weeks of the break was gone, and still no signs of Marissa, not that she thought the case worker would give her any help, really. The large bruise around her left eye contrasted darkly against her skin, but the vision had cleared even if the eye was still a bit puffy. Knowing she would catch her father's wrath if she woke him, she continued to do her chores, quietly.

When she entered the kitchen, she found a bag that had once contained an order of fish and chips, and had a handful stray chips in the bottom. She savored them as she removed the bag as rubbish; at least her father had brought home some food.

It was early evening when she heard stirring in her father's room, and she moved again toward the back of the house, but it was for not. She was startled to hear her father's voice as his footsteps came toward the mud room where she was putting away pots that has been pulled from the garden for the winter.

"Girl!" he yelled sharply, bringing her nearly at a run. "Where'd that useless… there you are. Get back here!" he snapped at her motioning her toward the kitchen. She hurried to obey him, even as her stomach plummeted. Her mind raced as she sought for what she could have possibly done or forgotten to do to raise her father's ire to such a state.

"Sir?" she questioned hesitantly, as she entered the kitchen, shoulders hunched as she opened the swinging door just enough to slip though.

"Where's that damn trunk you brought with you?" He snarled menacingly.

"My school trunk? It's in the cupboard by the nook." She said, puzzled.

"School trunk, eh? You aren't going back to school, so you don't need any of those things. I bet they'll fetch quite a price at the second hand shops. If I got to feed and clothe you, and you are going to go off and beg for charity, then it seems only right that I should get what comes out of that, not your worthless hide. Go now, get that trunk."

"But sir, my clothing is in there, and they aren't making me pay for school. There is just a few books and …" she tried to placate her father, but could see a dangerous glint come to his eye, and the waves of loathing turned sharply toward fury. She fell silent and stepped back away from the man in fear.

"Come. Here." He said, his voice falling dreadfully quiet and menacing. She felt she had no choice. She stepped forward.

When she stepped just within reach, the man's hand snaked forward and grabbed her upper arm roughly. He dragged her unceremoniously to him, stooping until he was nose to nose and peering into her eyes.

"Get that blasted trunk, now, or I will make sure you regret it." He hissed, and then shoved her roughly in the direction of the cupboard. Jena scrambled quickly to her feet when she fell. As she approached the trunk, she suddenly remembered the potions that Professor Savoy had made that she hadn't taken yet. She glanced back fearfully, and before she could reason what a bad idea it might be to defy her father, she opened the trunk to snatch the vials up and hide them. She didn't want the professor angry about not taking them. Unfortunately, she was not quite quick enough.

"What do you think you are doing?" He asked completely blocking the exit to the cupboard with his body. "What did you just put on the shelf?"

"Nothing, sir," She tried, but could feel a spike in her father's anger. Wrong move. "Really, they are just potions that I need…"

"Potions? For what? Never mind that. You aren't going back to that school, and you certainly look fine to me…. Taking the most valuable thing out of that trunk for yourself you little thief. You don't deserve those things!" Her father's voice got louder as his rant continued and she shrank back into the cupboard in fear. While the cupboard was almost as big as a closet, it was still a tight space, and her vision started to tunnel as panic set in.

"…did you hear me? Insolent brat!" the man growled and snatched the satchel that contained the potions off the shelf beside her, but she was too terrified to move. A sickening 'crack' reached through the fog of her panic as a burst of light flashed from what felt like it was behind her eyes and when she opened them the world was tilted sideways, and her head was mere inches from the floor. The rising nausea and the ringing in her ears almost drowned out the tirade as the man drug her school trunk behind him and out of the house. She felt wetness on her chin and wiped it away. It was sticky, and she could just barely make out the deep red color of blood. She was too confused to figure out where it was coming from, and after a few minutes, her eyes drifted close and unconsciousness overcame her tired mind and body.

Jena awoke to darkness. She managed to open one eye, but the other was glued shut, or so it felt. She tried to sit up, but her head started pounding, though it was more like the heavy thudding ring of a giant bell that played in time to her pulse. She could see that there was some light out in the kitchen. She didn't know what time it was. She lay there for a time, but whether it was mere minutes or hours, was uncertain. She dozed. Finally, she sat up slowly in fits and starts, and waited for the world to stop spinning. Once she sat up, and the world sat down, she was able to make out that the floor was slightly sticky with congealed blood. Hers no doubt as there was blood on her hand. She reached up to her face and gently touched the still shut eye. She must have a head wound that bled. It was dried blood around her eye.

Moving at a snails pace, she rose from sitting to standing. Clutching at shelves and surfaces, and she stumbled out into the bright daylight of the kitchen. Her whole body was achy, likely from sleeping on the stone floor, she thought. She finally made it to the bathroom and braced herself for several long moments against the sink before she allowed herself to look up and assess the damage. Her father must have hit her across the face again this time though a bit lower, and although her lip was split, it hadn't bled badly. No, she must have hit the other side of her head on a shelf or wall, and there was a gash, short deep and nasty, right at the hairline. She was afraid to touch it. She slowly cleaned the blood out of her eye, off her face and hands. The shirt was a total loss. Wearily, she made her way back to her nook and settled in, falling into a fitful sleep almost immediately. Her father didn't come home.

It was almost three full days later before she saw her father again. He stumbled in, drunk, and very late in the evening. She hadn't done much in the past few days, mostly sticking to her nook and sleeping fitfully. Her head still hurt, and without any food she was in sorry shape to do anything useful. She woke up at her usual time however, to find a half-eaten entrée from a local take-away shop sitting on the counter. Starving, she scarfed it down; hardly caring if her father would notice it was missing and punish her for it. Her stomach was almost immediately upset, so she retreated to her nook to rest. She didn't know how long she had been dozing, when the bark of her father's voice roused her.

"Girl! Get your worthless hide in here!" she heard from the far end of the kitchen. She rose somewhat unsteadily to her feet from her nook, keeping crouched. The way her head was pounding it would do her no good to bang it again on the overhang.

She kept close to the nook, a hand being used to steady her as she regarded her father fearfully at a distance. He stalked toward her, freezing when his quick approach caught her unawares and she looked up at him, startled raising an arm to protect her head. She felt irritation, an odd sense of hope, loathing, and suddenly, surprise also. She slowly lowered her arm to regard him carefully. Strangely enough, he was regarding her carefully as well. His lips were pursed as he considered her bruised and battered face. Her robe still had blood spatters that she couldn't get out and she had no other with all of her school things being taken.

'Worthless. Can't even pull her weight. Have to wait before she'll be worth much." he muttered to himself, yet there was a contemplative air about him, a calculating look in his eye that worried Jena.

"All that crap in your trunk didn't bring but 20 pounds. Not much that worthless school provides for you, not that you deserve it. And those potions – they're nearly as worthless; they are not even made by a real potion master. I see you ate my food. I am going to bring more food tomorrow, and you better eat that too, and do something about that robe you are wearing. You are going to earn you keep, or I will damn well not having you live under this roof!" he snarled. She nodded once solemnly, and watched has he turned with a sneer, and left the house. Relief warred with fear in her heart; his leaving brought her a few hours of peace, but what did he mean by 'earn her keep' and why would she need food and her robe to look neater? She pushed the worry to the back of her mind and made her way once again toward the laundry. She would try to get the blood out, again.

Austin sat on his knees, in front of a carefully decorated tree, rich velvet ribbons and fairy lights glowing softly. The light in the room was soft from the frosted window panes and the merrily crackling fire. He knelt gingerly on a plush rug that he suspected was put there to spare his knees by one of the more thoughtful house elves. He was dressed smartly in new pajamas, robe and slippers – a gift he received on Christmas Eve every year. His parents were speaking quietly to his grandmother of nonsensical things from yuletides past, but were paying no attention to him. Of course not, he thought sadness and bitterness mixing in the pit of his stomach like a noxious cocktail; he was sitting next to the elephant in the room – the absence of his sister, these few years gone, her small, dark haired silhouette gone from his side. He thought to an even smaller, sharp-eyed girl, and hoped that her Christmas was peaceful and that she was ok. With a sigh, he took the first, brightly wrapped box hoping to dispel the gloom that had overcome his heart.

Professor Savoy sipped at his wine after the fine Christmas dinner provided by the medi-witch. She had a jovial extended family and relations were present from college age to Poppy's elderly maiden aunt. Good natured teasing of the engaged nephew about "getting along with it" and having some children to make it "a proper Christmas" had no heat or seriousness to it. The family was uniformly even tempered and obviously enjoyed each others' company often. The conversation had been lively and interesting; with the family having members as healers, apothecaries and curse breakers, conversation had definitely included the DADA professor. Quiet by nature, he sat back and realized how at ease he was, in this place, in this new incarnation. He used to sneer at such scenes, believing them all to be false and contrived, with people hiding their true natures. How could one believe otherwise with the dark days of isolation and pain that had been his school holidays? His mind wandered to Jena. He had not heard from her or the caseworker, so he could only assume that she was at least unharmed and fed. It was better than he had at her age. Guilt settled in his stomach. Should he do more?

Poppy Pomphrey watched her younger colleague. While quiet, he had a lively wit and was certainly well educated. The family seemed taken enough with him, certainly. He ate lightly for such a feast, and avoided sweets. His grey eyes were sometimes sharp, sometimes warm, but always watching. In fact, it was difficult to watch him unnoticed, not that she had tried too much in the company of her family. She was appreciative of the younger colleague, such a kind man, and all he had done for her and the children in such a short time. She knew he must be missing his own family, so when those grey eyes turned somber and pensive; she quickly changed the topic to something about curse braking. Uncle Hamilton, the old warhorse, would have stories for ages, and it would be the perfect distraction for the Professor until pudding. She smiled quietly to herself when her ploy worked.

Christmas day came and went for Jena, with no sign of her father or the meal that he had promised. She would gladly give up the food to be quit of the man. Christmas meant only a week and a day left before she could return to school. She worried about her father's statement that she would not be returning to school, and what her punishment would be for her missing things. She tried to push such thoughts from her mind as she gingerly got up and did a few chores. She was stronger and less nauseated than yesterday, or the day before when her father had taken her trunk… she hoped she had seen the last of her father's ire.

She had retired earlier than usual, and was up at daybreak again. The house was nearly spotless, even with her spending the last few days doing little. Her head hurt a bit less, even if her hunger was worse. She decided on polishing the dining room chairs and table. She could remain sitting on the floor and not move much. She had almost completed the chore when her father returned.

She heard the front door slam and cringed as she heard heavy footfalls head down the hallway and the squeaky swing of the kitchen door.

"Girl!" she heard her father bark irritatedly, and had not quite made it to her feet when he came into the dining room. He surveyed the table, which although worn with age glowed darkly with fresh polish. He didn't comment. Instead, he threw a sack on the table.

"Breakfast. Eat now, and be ready to leave as soon as you are done." he snapped. Not waiting for a reply he turned on heel and quit the room. Jena froze, uncertain, but didn't move until she heard the shower down the hall start. The Professor had told her not to leave the house, but that was because she was safe in the wards – but the wards had failed. Did it matter if she left? She moved to the bag, seeing it was a discount bag of day old pastries, she took the bag to her nook and fetched a cup of warm water to wash down the dry treat. There were a dozen or so in the bag – she quickly hid two behind an old shirt for later, and wrapped another two in napkins and hid them in the pocket of her robe. She ate one of the largest. She hoped her father would not be upset to find nearly half the bag missing, but this would give her enough food to get by on until she returned to school – if she could figure out how. She gingerly returned the remaining pastries to the pantry.

Her father came to the kitchen, in a clean robe, eyes blood shot. Definitely hung over and short tempered, she thought.

"Can't do anything about that ugly face, can we?" he muttered to himself. Jena looked down at the floor. She knew her face looked awful, and felt the injustice that it looked that way because of her father, but her entire life had let her know that such injustice was simply endured. She said nothing.

"When people speak to you, look down like you are now, and none of your back chat. Come on." He snapped and strode purposefully toward the front door. Terror struck at her, but realizing that her father's wrath was likely more dangerous than her destination she could do nothing but follow.

They trudged through a light snow, Jena a few feet behind her father, shivering without a warm cloak, up the gentle grade that led to town. Her father never once looked back, or acknowledged her existence. It was only a mile or so to the wizarding village that their property was near, but her father circumvented the village to the seedier side that neared the muggle suburb. Jena's head pounded from the quick walking, and she was nauseous again, but kept swallowing to keep her breakfast down. Her father stopped abruptly in front of a squat two-story shop with a sign that had a cartoonish drawing of the face of a brutish man, chin jutting and badly in need of a shave with the words "Ugly Mug" just beneath. Yes, it certainly was, she thought. Her father jerked open the door, and glared at her until she hurried inside.

"Beaumont!" her father bellowed, approaching the bar. Jena looked quickly around what appeared to be a tavern and eatery of some sort. The floor was dark and stone of some kind, sticky with spills and Merlin knew what else. Short tables with four chairs each lined the outside walls and windows, and taller bar height tables with tall stools sat clustered unevenly in the middle of the room. A long bar with a metal foot rest along it's width was on a far back wall, which had a door that likely led to a kitchen and what looked like the beginning of a staircase that went to a second level.

A short, squat wizard came trundling from the kitchen and regarded her father coolly. Jena stayed where she was near the door.

"Kearns. Here to pay your tab, finally?" the man spat.

"Beaumont, I told you I'd make it right. I brought the brat. She'll work here until it's paid. Girl, get your ass over here." Her father snapped.

She approached warily, but kept her eyes averted, trying to hide the bruises on her face as her father requested.

"How much work can a child as small as that do? What kind of a joke is this, Kearns?" The man replied waspishly. The man radiated irritation, disdain – did he loathe her, or her father? Probably both, she thought, as she sighed defeatedly.

"She small, but old enough to go to school, although she won't be going back. She can read and write well enough, and she can work. She won't back chat or be any trouble. You can use a firm hand if you have a problem, and no one will come looking for the brat. How much a day will it pay off?" he asked gruffly.

"Three galleons." replied the man who must be Beaumont. Jena's heart sank. Her father was leaving her here to work. No one would find her here, and she would be stuck. What would this man be like? Would he hurt her? She clenched her hands into fists to hide that she was shaking.

"What? It'll take two months to pay off the tab at that rate. Ten galleons at least!" her father spluttered enraged.

"Five galleons, then, but that's as good as you're going to get. And I'll not be responsible for the brat. You are still her sire, and what she gets up to is still your problem. And mind you she ain't going home until your tab is paid!" the man snapped. "I bet she doesn't even know what to do around a bar…" the man muttered.

"Fine then. She knows how to clean about anything – it's the only thing she's good for." He snapped, and marched right out of the tavern without a backward glance. Jena stood still, trying to blink tears away from her eyes.

"Well then. You got a name, brat?" the man said, addressing her gruffly.

"It's Jena Kearns, sir…" she replied quietly.

"Restaurant is open from noon to 3, we close 3 to 5 and restaurant and tavern are open from 3 to closing, which most nights is at midnight, but Friday and Saturday is 2 am. It 9 am now. I want this floor cleaned before we open for lunch. And make sure you do a good job of it; it hasn't been done in months. Cook's is in the kitchen, he'll tell you where the cleaning stuff is. If you finish before open, then find something to clean in the back that won't disturb the cook or the customers till I tell you to do somethin' else. And you best work hard and not sass anyone. I have no problem taking the hide right off of you. Are we clear?"

"Yes sir." She replied just above a whisper. The man considered her a moment more then left up the stairs. Jena gingerly approached the kitchen, unsure of what her new situation would be like, but terrified to get off on the wrong foot with the disagreeable man.

She came through the door to a find a squalor of a room. Food stuff will strewn about a long metal topped bench with a cauldron. A burly man with a fat gut in a sleeveless robe and tunic that was belted below the gut stood with his back to the door, tossing poorly peeled and barely washed root vegetables into the cauldron.

She watched him nervously for a time, and saw as he took a small squat bottle of something clear and took a swig every so often. After several minutes she realized he would not notice or acknowledge her.

"Sir?" she said as politely as she could. The man, as she only knew as cook grunted and turned.

"Mr. Beaumont said that you could show me the cleaning things so I can clean the front floor?" she said quietly.

"In there." The man gestured toward some smaller cupboards at the back of the kitchen eyed her for a moment disinterestedly before taking another swig from the bottle and continuing his task. Jena sensed nearly nothing from the man, and the way he had lurched when he had turned made her think he was no where close to sober. Edging past him quickly, she found an old nearly rancid mop head, a bucket, and some cleaning potions. She would have to start by cleaning her cleaning supplies. She sighed and got to it. Until she figured out what exactly was happening to her, it was best to be compliant and stay out of the way. Her whole life time had told her this was the safest thing to do.

She had barely a quarter of the large floor clean. Months of ale and grime had been ground into the hard stone that her scrubbing had revealed to be light grey. She didn't know how close it was to noon, but she knew without a doubt she had failed in this task. Her whole body shook with the thought of what Mr. Beaumont had meant by a 'hiding'.

The object of her current fear came down the stairs, and stood surveying the dining room.

"You only got an hour left, what is taking you so long, Kearns?" he snapped.

"The floor has to be scrubbed and mopped several times to get all the dirt off. I'm sorry." She replied not daring to stop in her task. She flinched as she heard the man cross the room in his lumbering way, and stop, surveying her work critically.

"Who do you think eats here, the queen of England? The floor doesn't need to be clean enough to eat from. Just mop it and get on with it!" snapped the man, and stormed through the kitchen. Jena was torn – if she would get punished for not finishing in time, or punished for not doing the work right, what was worse? Her arms and shoulders already ached, and her head throbbed. She would just have to do what the man said and hope for the best. She set the deck brush aside and concentrated on moping as thoroughly as she could.

Mr. Beaumont returned just as she was replacing the last of the chairs around the last table.

"Finally. That corner where you did the brushing looks odd, but I guess we'll live with it. You can do a bit more like it everyday until the floor looks right. Get that crap back in the kitchen so we can open and go get something to do from the cook." The man walked away before she could answer, and she scurried to comply.

She rinsed and hung the mop and then did the same for the bucket and put the remaining supplies away.

"Sir?" she asked quietly to the cook who sat slouched against the wall."

"Huh? Whaddya want?" mumbled the man, who woke from a drunken stupor.

"Mr. Beaumont told me to see what you needed done?"

"Who 'n the hell are you?" snarled the man, obviously not happy about his brief nap being interrupted.

"I'm Jena Kearns" she said, not sure why the man was asking.

"Whaddya think yer doin', Kearns?" growled the man.

"She works for me, Bart." said Mr. Beaumont as he came through the door. "That drunken bastard that run out on his tab brought his brat in to work it off. She stays until he's paid up, and I don't want her underfoot or slaking off, Bart. Keep her working, and out of the customer's sight. Well, day customers anyway. She looks pathetic." The man spat, and left out the back door into an alleyway.

"Dishes, then, Kearns." he said, motioning to a sink already stacked with the things he had used to get the lunch items ready. The next few hours were a non-stop parade of dishes of all sizes and shapes. At some point a rough looking woman with a short apron had come in, and had hardly spared the girl a glance except to tell her not to expect any of the tips because she wasn't 'bussing', whatever that meant. Mr. Beaumont had come back, too, and must have been doing something out front. The cook had seemingly come out of his stupor and was surly, but managed at keeping up with the lunch orders. He didn't wash his hands or wipe the counters, she noticed, and was repulsed. Good thing the customers couldn't see the kitchen.

She finally washed out the sinks, and the rough looking woman had dropped some coins on the counter for the cook and departed just moments before. Jena was tired, and achy. She longed to sit down for a few minutes and get some water. She had to find a loo, too. Mr. Beaumont came in and looked at her, somewhat bemusedly, she thought. There was no kindness in his eyes, but no apparent hostility either. She sensed a bit of loathing and something else, satisfaction? Greed? She hadn't really sensed it before, so wasn't sure what to name it.

"Kept up, did you Kearns? Maybe you're worth a couple of galleons after all."

"Sir, may I use the loo?" she asked timidly. "I need a drink of water and a minute, please sir?

"Take a break kid. You can rest until the barman gets here. Bart here goes home and the barman's in charge. Not back talk to him, either." He said, but whether it was her quiet deference or the fact she wouldn't actually look at anyone that made him less fearful of her defiance, she wasn't sure.

"Where?..." she asked nervously.

"Over by the stairs." She nodded her thanks and quickly moved by them and out in the dining room. She locked her self in the small dingy space, and took a breath of relief. Her head pounded and she did her business and drank a few handfuls of water from the tap. Not sure when the barman would return, she took one of the stale pastries from her pocket and savored it slowly, with a little more water. The pounding in her head eased, and her hands didn't shake so badly. So, this was her lot, but for how long? Would her father really not let her go back to school? Professor Savoy said if she didn't go back, he would come find her, but how? How would he know she was here… and even if he did find her, would he be able to get her away from Mr. Beaumont? She sighed and slumped with her back against the door, resting as long as she dared, and then stood to go find the barman.

A tawny owl with white eye rings tapped gently at his window. Habitually an early riser, he set down his morning cup of tea to allow the bird entry to his chambers. Relieving it of its small burden, he scanned the missive quickly.

'Hello Professor Savory,

"I hope this letter finds you well. I apologize for intruding on your holiday, but I have yet to hear from Ms. Kearns. I have sent her two messages, and yet have not received a reply. I realize there is only a few more days until we return to school, but I cannot help being worried. I hope you have heard from her and that I am worrying needlessly. Again, I apologize for the intrusion, but I would appreciate it if you are able to reply with any news.

Respectfully,

Murphy.

"A Murphy?" muttered the man with a chuckle. He composed a quick reply that he hadn't heard from the girl but that he would check into it and gave it to the owl that had patiently waited for his return note. He picked up his cup and approached his desk. He had a scathing missive to certain small-brained social worker to pen.

Jena sat perched precariously on a bar stool. She was still very tired from the day's work, and didn't know what to expect from the barman. She heard someone coming down the stairs and slid off quickly in case she wasn't allowed to be sitting. She was expecting Mr. Beaumont, but the feelings weren't quite right. She sensed bitterness, and apathy, a sour feel, just before a hard-eyed peroxide blond made her way down the last few steps. She wore no makeup, but had the dark rings of a woman who wore more mascara than can be removed in a single washing. A kimono style robe and matching slippers were all she wore.

"Who are you?" she asked dully, as she walked behind the bar, and got a large jug of something tomato orange from underneath the counter.

"Jena Kearns, Ma'am." She replied quietly, looking down to hide her face.

"Pretty shiner, there, kid. Who popped you?" she asked, taking down a pack of cigarettes from a shelf over the bar.

Questions! Jena knew questions were trouble. She fumbled nervously with the hem of her tunic, not making eye contact.

"What, cat got your tongue? Wasn't anyone here, was it?" she asked harshly. Jena sensed curiosity, and a bit of anger, but couldn't figure out what she had done wrong. She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

"Well, I guess that's at least something, then. Why are you here? Wait, Kearns, did you say? You're that loud mouth "Lord Kearns'" brat, aren't you? Merlin, I didn't really believe he'd bring in his own kid to pay for his…" the woman trailed off. Jena was watching her from the corner of her eye. She saw something harden, and felt trepidation and fury boil up from the woman like a storm.

"And exactly, what, are you doing to earn your keep?" the woman snapped harshly. Ah, thought Jena, relaxing a bit. She was used to this, to know that she was a burden and unworthy of care she couldn't earn.

"I mopped today, and did dishes. Mr. Beaumont said to take a break and wait for the Barman, and he'd give me more to do." She replied quietly.

Something seemed to simmer down in the woman, she felt the fury abate.

"Well, that's alright then." The woman muttered, as she glanced about the place. "Well, I guess you did mop. That's something, anyway." Just then the front door opened allowing a tall, thin man with long hair and a thin dark mustache.

"Here's your barman, kid. His name is Arnie. I gotta go put my face on and get ready for customers." She said downing the tomato concoction she had poured herself.

"Amy, what's with the kid? One of yours?" the barman asked, hardly sparing the girl a glance.

"Very funny, Arnie. That's the Kearns brat, here to work of her dad's tab. She's already done the floor and dishes. Beaumont told her to wait for you for more to do." She said as she lazily made her way to the staircase.

"And I suppose you put the drink and the fags on your tab, right Ames?" he said resignedly.

"Don't I always?" the woman replied with a harsh laugh, as she headed out of sight.

"What time did you get here?" asked the man, considering her. He seemed calm, and not openly hostile. She felt mild irritation, and tiredness, a bit of boredom, but nothing threatening.

"I think it was about 9, sir."

A grunt answered her.

"This your first break?"

"Yes sir."

The man sighed. "Fine then. You can clean and stock the low shelves at the bar. I'm tall and it's hard on my bones to be bent down like that. After that, you can help with the kitchen duties, and stay in the kitchen. We close the kitchen and just have the bar stuff at 9, so you'll be done then. Your dad coming to fetch you?"

"No sir, I don't think so. Mr. Beaumont said I had to stay until the tab is paid." She replied. "But I don't really know…"

The man sighed again, and now she could feel irritation. She heard the man muttering under his breath. She thought she heard the words "bloody greedy bastard" and "I have my own damn kids to mind" but she wasn't sure. Not wanting to ire the man further, she hurried to the cleaning supplies and got to work cleaning. By unspoken consent, they started their work on opposite ends of the bar, with the only communication being the tall man explaining to her what to stock and how much to fetch from the back. Her shoulders were beyond tired and were screaming their unhappiness at her, so she made several smaller trips, not daring to carry too much and drop something.

She didn't know how long she worked when the front door opened, and Mr. Beaumont entered again.

"Good." He grunted upon seeing her enter form the kitchen. "You got the brat doing something useful."

"Craig, a word." He said, stopping the man as he headed for the stairs. "Kearns, get the kettles filled an on, and the produce delivery that's in the back unpacked and organized so we can start the kitchen prep." She glanced nervously at the man, as she hadn't finished stocking, but something hard in his eyes, and the smoldering quiet anger she had felt from the man for the past hour or so made her obey without question.

She heard voices, muffled at first, but finally something distinct.

"Craig, I don't care what the man owes us. Did you look at that kid? She's been beat to a bloody pulp, and working her like a dog is not right. I got kids of my own, too. Would you have them in here working 12 hours a day if I owed you money for booze? You got your own brother here working every day as a cook to stay in the hooch. What's next, you gonna shove that kid upstairs and put her on Amy's crew? It's bloody disgusting!"

"Damn it Arnie, she ain't your kid. She's some bloody drunk's kid, and see her getting smacked around here, do you? Blood well doin' the whelp a favor. She's paying off five galleons a day toward her old man's tab. That's twelve days – hardly an eternity."

"I'm no baby sitter, I told you. I come to work to get away from my brats, not find more! And what do I say to the Kearns bastard if he comes back?"

"Serve him. We got collateral!" the man barked, slamming his fist on something hard. Jena couldn't help but flinch even though neither man was in the room. "This is a bloody business, not a bleedin' heart's kid's home!

"You know what, Beaumont, you're too much! She's just a little kid, not some house elf. Merlin!"

"Well, I don't care what you think. It's my joint, my decision, and that man owes me. Think I care about some street urchin? She seems quiet and dead useful. All you complained that there's too much to do around here, and the place needed some clean'n. Well, here's your answer. Don't like it, you can find another job. Clear?"

Jena was startled by the door being pushed open harshly, and a purple faced Mr. Beaumont freezing as he came through the door. She had the produce unpacked and had been cleaning and taking off the wilted leaves, getting it ready. The man stared at her, gazed around the kitchen. The sinks were clean, she had wiped the counters before starting with the produce, and all the boxes were stacked neatly.

"Don't know what the man's complaining about. You seem to do fine. Get back to it." He snapped sharply.

Jena turned back to her task, a small feeling of warmth not able to let go of the fear she felt. Perhaps she could earn her keep here. She stretched her shoulders gingerly and continued the work.

The barman, who had told her to call him Arnie, finally called her out to the bar. It seemed late, but she was just very tired. The bar was dark, and there were few patrons. None seemed to notice her appearance at the kitchen door.

"Kid, you're done. Go 'n find someplace to crash." She nodded gratefully, and headed toward the back of the kitchen. She had looked in vain for an elf nook in her brief lull between dishes and helping with the cooking tasks, but had found none. One of the cupboards only held dry goods, and had a bunch of empty flour sacks hung on a nail. She took a couple of them down. They were shorter than she was tall, but she put one on the stone to keep her off of it, and one over herself. She had mostly closed the door to block the noise. Exhausted, even her fear at the new place didn't keep her awake. She was asleep in minutes.

The next day followed the first. The cook, who she generally was able to piece together lived somewhere in the building, was Mr. Beaumont's brother. He didn't seemed surprised to find her in the pantry when he came in, and she took a few minutes to wash up in the loo, taking the time to eat her last pastry. Ten more days she thought disconsolately. Maybe they would give her some food? She wasn't brave enough to ask right away, and she kept her head down. She only spoke when spoken too, and tried to do exactly what was wanted. Amy, who everyone seemed to call "Ames" came down just before the barman arrived again. Last night she had found out that the tomato stuff was some vile drink called "bloody Mary"; she hoped feverently that blood wasn't really an ingredient. It smelled of rotten tomatoes.

"You still here, eh kid? I thought after a day like yesterday, you'd try 'n run off." Amy said in a tone that clearly indicated that she didn't care one way or the other.

She didn't know what to say to that, so kept silent. Just then her stomach growled, loudly.

"You hungry, kid?" she said with a chuckle. "They ain't feed'n you yet, are they?" she said.

"I don't know if I'm allowed." She replied carefully watching the woman, "but I am hungry."

"Jesus, kid, I didn't think you'd be serious?" the woman exclaimed. "Beaumont!" she bellowed, but as it turned out the volume was unnecessary as the man was already coming down the stairs, finishing the last few buttons on his shirt.

"Ames, what's the matter with you!" he replied testily.

"You starvin' the kid, Craig?" she snapped. "I ain't got a problem with her being here, but you could at least let the brat have a meal. She can't go days without a meal!"

"I told her good for nothin' sire that he's responsible for her. If he ain't bringing her food, how is that my problem?" he snapped back.

"How do you expect her to be able to work then? It's in your own interests to keep the kid fed." She said blandly. "Stupid old fool…" she muttered darkly.

The man "harrumphed" as he went about pouring himself some of the same vile, "bloody Mary" stuff.

"Fine, brat. You can have some soup at your break, but I'm dock'n you 3 knuts a serving for it, hear me? That means you'll work at least an extra day." He snapped.

"Thank you sir!" she said, relief washing over her. A meal a day she could manage. Her hands were still shaking, and her head still hurt. Her shoulder burned, and well, she just felt awful. But a meal a day and maybe she would make it. Maybe this was really better… if she couldn't' go to school, she thought, swallowing hard, at least she was someplace with food. She quickly went to get a bowl before the man changed his mind, and ate it quickly in the kitchen where the man couldn't see, in case it reminded him of his generosity and he regretted it.

It was the fourth day at the Ugly Mug, and Jena was having her soup and quietly waiting for the barman. She had started helping Bart make it – she tried not to think about how disgusting it was that she had to eat some before she started helping given Bart's hygiene habits, but at least she wasn't hungry all the time. It was hard to wait until her break to have a meal, but she was grateful for it none the less.

"Kearns," the barman nodded as he walked in. He looked at her bowl, "He's charging you three knuts for that?" the man said tiredly. Jena nodded briefly, but eyed the man warily. Questions never led to good places. The man pulled a roll and some butter out of the counter and put one on a plate and slid it over. "The soup at three knuts comes with bread, kid." He said gruffly. He eyed her again. "Don't you have anything else to wear?"

Jena looked down at the shabby robe, tunic and pants she wore. The work got her really dirty. She was too tired at the end of each night to do more than collapse. In the mornings, she had been trying to rub the worst of the spots out with water in the loo, but she knew she was still a mess.

"I have a few more things at home, but this is my only robe." She replied quietly, seeing no hope for not answering. "Thank you for the bread. It's good." She ate it quickly. She didn't know if she really was supposed to have it, but she didn't want trouble with Mr. Beaumont.

"Well, it's Friday night and the busiest night of the week. I'll be needin' you to come out to help and you can't look like that. Where is Craig?"

"Uhm, I really don't know, sir, I'm sorry." she murmured quietly.

Something in her answer seemed to anger the man sudden. "Brat, why the bloody hell are you always so polite?" he snapped, "It ain't natural. My own kids…" he quietly fumed. Jena didn't know what she'd done, or why the man was at first nice and now angry. He was confused, too. Well, she just seemed to do that to people. She sighed and took her dishes to the kitchen where she quickly washed them, and began to stock for the evening shift.

It wasn't very long before she heard Arnie bellow.

"Craig, it's been four days and we haven't seen that brat's father. She can't wear the same thing forever. Merlin, what will the customers think?"

"It's bad enough we got to feed the brat." She heard the man yell back. Her stomach twisted in knots. She had to take the things to the bar; it was what she was supposed to do. She could get more stuff out and ready instead, but there was no room on the kitchen counter. She braced herself, and came carefully out to the bar.

"Look, just look at the kid. She's filthy, Craig. You want her out like that?"

"I can't help it she lives like an animal." The man spat.

"She lives like an animal in your own bar, so of course you can help it, you cheap…" the man began to shout.

"Pipe down!" Ames called from the stairs. "What the hell is your problem, tonight?" she snapped at the two men.

"Arnie's on his high horse about the brat again. Says we should be clothing her as well as feeding her. She's working here, we didn't bloody go and adopt her!" he snapped at no one in general. He was an arm's distance from Jena now, and his tone made her flinch and she tried to ease around him, keeping the garnish plates between herself and the man, hoping that wasting his stock would prevent him from lashing out physically. She didn't dare stop working.

"Well, look at the wretch. No one wants to look at that. If this place didn't already smell to high heaven, you'd probably smell her from here, too." Jena didn't look up and kept working, but her cheeks turned pink in shame. She did what she could, it wasn't like there was a shower and washer here, and even if there was, she didn't have anything to change into.

She heard rather than saw Mr. Beaumont start to splutter in rage, just as she felt a sharp spike in the man's fury. She felt bemusement from Ames, and something else, triumph? She wasn't sure what that meant, but the fury cared her. Arnie seemed sad, and resigned. She edged further away from Beaumont on the premise of cleaning a shelf, not that they needed it. She had been keeping them spotless.

"Stuff it, Craig. I'll take the chit upstairs and get her cleaned up. One of the girls will have something she can wear. I swear. Men! No sense at all. Well, what are you waiting for brat? You got to get back down here before dinner. Come along." Jena looked at the two men with trepidation. Mr. Beaumont simply threw his hands in the air and stormed into the kitchen. Arnie, shrugged, and Jena slowly followed Ames up the stairs.

Jena hadn't been upstairs before. She had seen women, and some men, and sometimes both together go up and down the stairs. Since she had seen both Mr. Beaumont and Ames come down stairs bleary eyed and in various states of undress, so she figured they lived up there, so there must be rooms. Jena had thought maybe they had tenants.

When she got up to the top of the stairs, just a few stairs behind Ames, she froze. There was a hallway, with many doors. Some were opened, and some were shut, but there were 5 women standing in the hallway in various states of undress. Waves of apathy, anticipation, worry, resignation hit her. It smelled floral, but in a very unpleasant way… the woman took little notice of the new comer and were talking of the evening's plans.

"Hey, one of you have something we can shrink down for the kid to work in?" snapped Ames, the women turned doleful eyes to her, and Jena was suddenly aware of what this place was. It was a place like before, where the deatheaters… Jena froze in panic. A rushing noise filled her ears, and she couldn't get a breath.

"Well, what's wrong with you, brat?" snapped Ames who grabbed her by the arm and shoved her through an open doorway. "There's the shower. The girls have to get ready, so be quick already, but wash that hair!" she ordered tersely, not realizing the panic the child had fallen into. The slamming of the door and shutting off the sight of the women in the hall allowed Jena to take her first breath in what felt like ages. Tears came to her eyes as she slowly slid down to the floor, her back against the closed door. She was in and old, grungy looking bathhouse-style loo. She sat there, thinking of nothing, until she heard a pounding on the door made her jump.

"Kearns, I thought I told you to hurry up!" It was Ames. "I don't hear water!"

"Aye, Ma'am," she called, but her voice sounded strained to her own ears. She didn't think she could be heard like that through the door, so raised unsteadily and fumbled to get the water turned on. She hesitated at disrobing. She didn't want to feel exposed here. Her hands shook badly, and it took her much longer than usual to work the fastening. She carefully lay the clothing over the edge to the sink. She had no others and didn't trust anyone to bring her more; regardless of there state she would have to put them back on. She stepped into the steamy shower and quickly got wet, and closed her eyes for a moment as the hot water hit the painfully tired shoulders. She couldn't linger, she reminded herself firmly. She noticed a wider variety of various soaps and shampoos, obviously belonging to the women. There was a host of fragrances, mostly fruit and flower choices, all of the cheap. She chose one that was a little fuller than the others and it looked the least expensive of the lot and quickly washed her hair and skin.

Something tried to rear its ugly head into her thoughts about where she was and that she would always be dirty, but she pushed that thought away, turned up the heat in the shower again until it stung, and washed her skin again. She took one of the towels off the stack. It was thread bare and dingy, but at least clean enough to use and toweled off. She covered herself quickly with the towel when the door was shoved open, but it was only Ames, and a smaller woman whose head only came to Ame's shoulder. The smaller woman, who looked no more than 20 herself, and had big brown eyes and brown hair, but a large hooked nose, giggled.

"You ain't got nuthin' we don't." she said and hooked a hanger on the back of the wall. "She is a little 'un, though, ain't she, Ames? Well, I guess'n this'll be alright even though a bit fancy 'n all." The woman said with a shrug.

"Jesse got you some clothes, kid. Throw those things in the bin over there. Laundry will have them back to you on Monday." She said, closing the door with no further ado. Jena sighed in relief when the door closed again. The clothes were too big, even though they had obviously been shrunk some. They were clean, but she winced at how soft the silky undershirt was. If she wore these cloths for 3 days, there is no chance this shirt would survive, she thought. The shirt was a pale pink with a darker pink print of large roses. Jena figured some girls thought that was pretty, but it just led back to the feeling of dirtiness that she was trying desperately to squash. She rinsed out the shower, a little bit despondent to see how dirty it was after she used it. She had really needed a shower. She found a broken comb in one of the cabinets, and made quick work of her wet hair, and hurried back down the stairs without a look back to the women's rooms. She wanted to thank the girl, Jesse, for her generosity, but she would never go up those stairs again if she could help it. She determinedly started her kitchen work, with only the briefest acknowledgement from Arnie.

Professor Savoy took his place at the head table between Minerva and Poppy. Christmas break had been productive, all things considered, but he found himself anxious to have "his" house back. In his past life, he had never really gotten attached to his students. He was finding that the more he cared, now, the more rewarding his work seemed to be. With out the distractions of war, spying, or a history to damn his every action, he was realizing how much he missed in the past 20 years.

"My, it must be quite the doom and gloom to put such a pensive look on your face, professor." Minerva chided, gently breaking him from his brooding.

"I was just contemplating what it meant that I missed my students," he said lightly. Sometimes the truth was the easiest way to mislead a friend off the subject you didn't want to discuss.

"It means you enjoyed your break. You won't miss them any more in May." She said dryly with a chuckle.

Students were still trickling in from the train. The Slytherin table was nearly half full before he saw Austin take a seat and look up at the had table, and shake his head briefly.

"Damn." He muttered.

"What is it, Eugene?" as Poppy concerned.

"Jena Kearns was not on the train."

"You wrote to the social worker, maybe they are bringing her?"

"I didn't receive a reply, Poppy, and the child hasn't returned any owls." He said, worry evident in his voice..

"I am sure we can figure it out once the children are settled in their classes." Interjected the headmistress disinterestedly, before standing to start the returning feast.

The man known as Eugene Savoy shook his head. A cold feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew Minerva would miss the obvious, but he would not, could not, not when one of his own was in danger. Besides, he had given his word. He would find the child.


	29. Chapter 29 Found

Hello folks:

Not mine. Hope all of JK Rowling attorneys have better things to do, like pick lint out of their navels, anyway.

A great Beta job by the Infinity part of Infinity Ltd. She did a great job, and has great suggestions. Don't tell her that, or it will go to her head, though.

Next chapter – it's funny, you think you know where your story is going and then "wham!" – a Plot Bunny from hell wrecks the writing train. We tried to make rabbit stew though, so it's all good. On with our story….

The next morning, a rather non-descript brown barn owl dropped a missive bearing the Ministry of Magic's Family Services Division seal in front of him.

"About bloody-well time." he muttered under his breath as he scanned the document. It was a reply from Marissa Dougherty. Yes, the wards had been set at Kearns Manor, and no, the child couldn't leave, nor could corporal punishment be administered while she was in the home. Yes, she had done the weekly checks, and the child seemed fed, and to be getting along well enough with the father. There were, of course, behavioral issues, but they would be straightened out. He noted the letter was posted two days ago; the social worker could not know the child hadn't returned to school. He reread the letter. Behavioral issues? He tried to think of one thing the child had done that hadn't been to please or appease someone, and could remember nothing. Something in the letter didn't ring true for him, he thought, as he scowled at the parchmeemnt. He had another letter to write.

Jena had been at the Ugly Mug for over a week; she was pretty sure that school had started today. She was tired, so tired it was hard to think. Her shoulders ached constantly, and she often was cold even when moving around. She felt as if her mind was in a fog, which is why she missed that her father had entered the bar.

She had learned that bussing meant taking the dirty dishes off the table and getting them back to the sink so the table could be reset for customers. A few coins each night came from the servers if she was quick about it. Maybe it would pay off her debt more quickly she thought idly, as she moved automatically from one table to the next.

"Jena," hissed the server, whose name she struggled to remember, "get to the bar now. Arnie wants you."

She quickly filled the tray with as many dishes as she could and hurried over, deftly avoiding the stumbling patrons and busily darting servers. Then, over the room's cacophony, she heard her father's voice and her heart nearly stopped. Panic seized her, and there was a rushing in her ears. Get to Arnie, she thought, he called you, and maybe your father won't see you. She scurried away, nearly dropping the dishes in her hurry.

Arnie glanced first at her, and then at her father, who was approaching Mr. Beaumont on the far side of the bar as she quickly made her way around the server's end.

"Kid, get started on the dishes and start the food orders. Stay out of sight. Scram!" he said forcefully, but quietly. Arnie, while not very friendly, watched out for her more than most. She nodded and quickly complied. She was very startled, therefore, when Mr. Beaumont and Lord Kearns entered the kitchen just minutes later.

"Is that all she's worth Beaumont?" her father's enunciation lacked the clipped endings of his usual diction, indicating that while not drunk, he wasn't exactly sober. "You know there are people that would pay to see the girls upstairs…"

"Ames said those kind of sick fucks don't want anything to do with the other girls and creeps them out. Makes it too hard to stay staffed. Besides, I don't need no Aurors butting in." he replied shaking his head.

"Those types pay double what your girls charge, _and_ you'd keep all the profits. Since it ain't strictly legal, they don't make much fuss either."

Jena's stomach felt like it was on fire. They wanted her to go upstairs…with men. With men like… Jena's vision began to swim, and a jar fell from her hand. She didn't hear it as it crashed on the floor.

The next thing Jena felt was a sharp slap across her face, followed by her father shaking her harshly by her shoulders.

"What the hell is wrong with you? How dare you space off and not do your work." Jena flinched away from the man, but he held her upper arms in a bruising grip.

"Kearns, let the kid work. It's the first time she dropped anything, and we shouldn't be talking business in front of her. Let's take it upstairs."

With a final sneer, Jena's father shoved her roughly away from him. Unable to keep her feet, she went sprawling and landed in the broken glass, but somehow avoided getting cut. Before she could gain her feet, a kick caught her in the ribs, and she went sprawling again. She curled up in a ball to protect herself and remained that way until she heard the kitchen door swing closed again and she was alone. She slowly got to her feet, and resumed her task, breathing shallowly so as to not irritate the now sore ribs.

Jena mind was buzzing with nothingness, and for once she was grateful. She tried to think of nothing. She didn't even nod when Arnie dismissed her, but fell in the pantry in her makeshift pallet and tried not to exist.

The next morning, she was on autopilot. No one seemed to notice. At 4pm, she left the kitchen where she'd eaten her lunch to start stocking the bar when she overheard Ames and Beaumont in a heated conversation.

"I don't want those kiddy creeps here! It's disgusting!" Ames hissed. "They will scare off our regular clientele and the girls will quit."

"But Ames, we could make a lot of money off the kid. Maybe even enough that you won't have to work."

"Beaumont, I like to work. I like the tricks, making my own money, setting my own rules. You just don't want to pay for it. Tough. If it's me you want, you know the price of admission. But I'll leave and take my best girls with me if that kid is forced to take a room upstairs."

Beaumont muttered as he walked away, but all Jena could make out was 'I could get younger and better for that price" and "Kearn's suggested it and he's the brat's father, ain't like it was my idea"….

Jena reapplied herself to her work. She didn't want a different job — of that she was certain. Maybe the professor would come. That was a thought she was having less and less lately. It was better just not to think at all. Hope did her no good here.

Monday afternoon found Professor Savoy in the visitor chair across from the Headmistress's desk. He tried to block out all the times he had sat in this exact place, or he himself had worked in the place now reserved for Minerva McGonagall.

"You want a day off? Already?" she replied to his request, the edge of incredulity ringing out in her voice.

"Not a whole day. I would only need coverage for two, maybe three classes. I promised the child if she did not make it back to school, I would determine why, and that I would come find her. It was the only thing that got her on the train without panicking. Now I am wondering if she knew that something would happen."

McGonagall sighed heavily. "Of course, now every time the child is anxious, we have to worry that it was a vision she didn't' share with us. Merlin! The child is a menace. The last twenty years were ruled by a prophecy, I don't want to see the next twenty years spent that way."

"I was under the impression that the last twenty years were ruled by a war, started by a madman. A madman who was an orphan, and had his home life ignored by this very institution." snapped Savoy in frustration.

"Where did you hear that?" the Headmistress questioned sharply.

Her sharp change of tone shook the former spy loose from his anger. Damn. The early history of Tom Riddle was not widely know, he would have to think fast.

"The story of the Dark Lord is not widely known," he said, stalling for time, "but… it is in the interests of those who wish to prevent such a rise to learn. I have been conversing with the portrait of the headmaster…"

"Bloody doddering old menace," muttered the Headmistress as she rubbed at her eyes tiredly. "Fine. You want to hunt the girl up, you can go Thursday, but be back for dinner. The week after the holidays is especially difficult and you need to be here for your house. And if that's not enough time, you can go Saturday, but I won't give you more time than that for this… project. Am I clear?" she said, closing a journal on her desk firmly.

With a sharp nod, the man left the room. It was frustrating not to be able to use the past twenty years of history to make his point. The Headmistress was obviously still very weary from the war. Savoy had taken a year off, but what of Minerva? As much as he wanted to be angry with her for not seeing the need of this child, part of him understood. But the new prophecy echoed in his brain:

_She alone will complete the circle. She alone can master time._

_Leave her alone at your peril. Abandon her and destroy us all!_

Professor Savoy understood all too well that the young Slytherin would find no quarter at Hogwarts from the current Headmistress. Weary from twenty plus years of war, if the Headmistress truly believed that Jena's presence would bring peril to the school, Jena would be banned. However, they did not have a great thinker like Albus in their midst right now, and what if the girl's presence saved the school? Ignoring that possibility was not a risk he felt he could take. He would not abandon Jena.

Thursday after lunch found Professor Savoy quickly striding to the apparition boundary, and then at the entry of the Ministry of Magic. "Merlin. Twice in a month — I am an idiot." He muttered to himself, and he made his way through the visitors' entrance.

He strode down a corridor on the fourth floor, overflowing with filing cabinets in the corridor, crammed offices, doors unable to close because of boxes, and a whirlwind of self-filing memos. There was no receptionist to the wing, so he knocked softly on the door of the first occupied office.

"Yes?" said a squat, dark harried woman. On closer inspection, she was actually quite small framed, but her rigid posture and dark severe clothing made her seem slightly more imposing. He could appreciate the effect.

"I am looking for the Director, if you can be so kind…"

"You don't have an appointment." the woman said crisply.

"You're the receptionist then?" he asked dryly.

"No, I am the Director, so I would know if I had an appointment with anyone. You don't have an appointment. I'm busy. The receptionist was sacked. You can wait until I find time to hire a replacement to make an appointment." She replied in clipped, abrupt, and not terribly polite speech. She drew her wand and waved it to shut the door. "Good day." She said, the overly sweet note that crept into in her voice voice at the dismissal ringing false.

Had the woman bothered to have looked up, she would have noticed the DADA professor spelling her door with a sticking charm that would keep it from closing for the foreseeable future. When the door did not swing shut, the woman finally looked up and was slightly taken aback to see a man leaning against the door frame twirling a wand lazily in his hand.

"Certainly, Ms. Breakthorpe, you would have had an appointment with me had your receptionist been here to attend to your post. I sent an urgent owl last Thursday. Excuse me for being so forward, but I had rather thought that given one of your charges is missing, you would be more concerned than a 4-day wait." He said, his voice chilly.

"Ah, yes. Professor Savoy, is it? Well, I would expect a defense master to be able to keep a door open. I did not respond to your request as it was not urgent. The child is not missing, she is with her Father. Now, if you'd excuse me, I am sure I can see you the Friday before Easter Break. Now, I have a family arriving in ten minutes and the door needs to close…" she said sternly finally standing.

"The child has not returned to school."

"It's the parent's prerogative to choose a different education course." She replied coolly.

"I am well aware of that fact. I only ask that you verify that there is another education course, or home schooling, and I will shadow your door no longer."

"Her case worker took some time off during the holidays. I am certain, now that she is back in the office, she will report in Friday. Friday is her check-in day in the girl's home."

Finally, thought the professor, something to work with. "Are you certain she was gone during the holidays, Madame?" he replied slowly moving closer to the woman. He drew himself up, and narrowed his eyes. He was inwardly impressed. The woman didn't so much as flinch as he attempted to intimidate her.

"Quite certain. We have little enough help around here that when even one person is gone, it is felt by all." She said.

"Then, why, may I ask, did I receive a letter from Ms. Dougherty stating that she had completed each and every weekly check, and all was well except the child having some behavioral issues?" he asked, deliberately dropping the volume of his voice to the point where she would have to strain to listen.

However, the woman was far from intimidated. "You obviously misunderstood the missive." She huffed, "Now…"

"I beg you," he said in a slow drawl that indicated that begging was the farthest thing from his mind as he removed the letter form the breast pocket of his dark robe, "tTo peruse the missive yourself. If you can find any interpretation other than this letter contradicting Ms. Dougherty having been absent, I assure you, I will make no more of this issue."

The woman snatched the proffered missive and hurriedly unfolded the parchment.

"Fine, if that gets you out of here before my two o'clock…" she snapped, but fell off as her eyes quickly scanned the document.

"Well. This certainly does seem to indicate a weekly visit schedule. Perhaps it was just poorly written, with Ms. Dougherty trying to assuage your worries. I have to do a supervisory visit with Ms. Dougherty this month anyway as she is still in her first year as a social witch. If I go and personally see to… Ms. Kearns, would you kindly leave?" she asked in a rush.

"Actually, the only way you will get me to leave is if you promise to visit Ms. Kearns on Friday, and if she does not have adequate shelter, food, or education, you allow me to collect her Saturday morning. In the event that she is actually missing, I wish to be involved in her recovery. I expect a message by patronous charm no later than 4pm Friday. If that is acceptable, then the afternoon is yours." He said mildly.

"What? You can't hold me here. Are you threatening to keep me in this office?" She spluttered anger mixed with incredulity.

"Heavens, no. You are perfectly free to come and go. As a matter of fact, I would encourage you to do so, since Ms. Kearns welfare depends on it. However, if you don't agree to my terms, then no others will see you in this office until we achieve terms I agree too." He replied, cold steel under the laying his mild tone.

"You're quite serious? And if I completely refuse, I assume you will take this matter on yourself?" she said, resignedly.

"I have certainly stated no such thing." The man replied.

"Of course not. Then I could charge you with a crime, such custodial interference as well as obstruction, as I am sure you are aware. Very well, Professor, you win. But if you need help from this Department in the future…" she said angrily, only to once again be cut off by the professor.

"I will expect the same level of help that caused the only charge under my care to come up missing in just over a fortnight when left as your charge, and I assure you I won't expect you or your Department to suddenly develop a new level of competency." With a whirl of his wand and a flick of his robe he turned abruptly and stalked out of the department, leaving the woman standing there, speechless.

He briefly toyed with the idea of going to the child's father and forcing an answer, but if it was just one more night, working within the rules would be safer. He made his way briskly back to Hogwarts.

Breakfast the next morning was an interesting affair. A large eagle owl dropped a message in front of the Headmistress, who was seated next to him. He raised an eyebrow at the Family Services seal.

"That's odd. Normally they wait to deliver these to me in my office…" she muttered, as she quickly opened the missive, a pin from her hair wandlessly and wordlessly transfigured into reading glasses. Savoy smiled softly to himself. Yes, the Lady was still the Master of transfiguration. He stifled a smirk and her brow drew closed in consternation.

"Professor Savoy, I have a rather direct missive from one Ms. Breakthorpe, who is the director of Wizardearing Family Services. She maintains that you not only threatened her person, but insulted her and her entire Department."

"I am quite certain I did no such thing." He replied mildly, but didn't even bother to feign surprise as at the accusation.

"And what, exactly, did you do?" the Headmistress asked sharply.

"I compromised on retrieving Jena immediately for her solemn promise that she would personally check on Ms. Dougherty today, and notify me of the girl's whereabouts. I very clearly indicated that I expected her department to behave at the same level of competency that it has demonstrated thus far. Any value assigned would be merely that of the perceiver." He explained, smirking.

She eyed the man angrily. "And *that* is exactly what you said?"

"Yes."

The Headmistress relented grudgingly. "Alright, Eugene. We don't need enemies, and we may need their services in the future. Do try to keep yourself out of the Auror's cells, won't you?"

"Of course, Madame." He said, but his soft smile was belied by the worry in his eyes over his young charge.

On Friday's Professor Savoy's free period was directly before lunch. He heard a firm rap at his office door.

"Enter." He said casually. When he glanced up, he was surprised to see not a student asking for study help, but a very determined looking Ms. Breakthorpe.

"Good day, Professor Savoy. I hope that you don't mind my delivering word in person, rather than through patroornus?" she asked sternly, her eyes cold, and her back straight.

"I certainly will make time for something as important as this," he replied lightly, but the implied criticism was clear. He stood politely and waved the woman to a visitor's chair.

Once seated, the director delved into her explanation without any prompting.

"Ms. Dougherty and I went to check on the Kearns estate this morning. Ms. Dougherty indicated that she had visited the Estate twice. Lord Kearns was not home when we arrived. Ms. Doughty assured me that he was aware that Fridays were his check days, at 8 am. She seemed surprised that he had missed, and documented it as his first missed visit and went to leave. She did not try to reset the wards. Given your complaints, and that if she had visited the Estate weekly, she would have been to the estate four times — once to do her investigation, once to do an intervention and twice to check on the child — I felt that I needed more information. I told her that I would reset them. I cast a reveal spell on the property. Wards had been set at one time, but it had been at least 3 weeks and definitely before the new moon since they were last activated. I questioned her more closely. It is a matter of employee confidentiality what was found, but Ms. Kearns was last seen by a member of my Department on the day she arrived home from school. The wards that kept her father from coming home inebriated or using corporal punishment would have fallen in just over week. Given that we had no cause for believing the child was in any physical danger, we could not enter the home to investigate further." At this the woman fell silent, face carefully blank and back still ramrod straight.

"Have you been able to locate or contact either of them?" he asked sternly.

"I have personally put in a missing persons report for both the father and the child. It was barely an hour after we left the property that that Aurors office told me they had located the father outside a pub just a couple of townships from his manor, too drunk to stand on his own. The child was not with him." Again the woman fell silent, considering him.

He sat forward in his chair very slowly, and placed his hands firmly, palm down on the surface of his desk.

"Ms. Breakthorpe, as much as I appreciate you bringing me this vital information, I must express my dismay at exactly why you are here, and not out looking for Jena?" he asked, voice full of both disdain and anger.

"The Father has not committed a crime. The Aurors didn't keep in him custody, and he was returned to the Manoner. He can give us no information until he is at least partially sober. Looking for the child is pointless until someone questions Lord Kearns." The woman's demeanor had not changed through the entire exchange. She sat straight and stiffly, back not touching the back of the chair, and intense, piercing gaze not wavering from his eyes

He considered her at length. "I would assume that your Department has been called upon to do the questioning, if the Auror's didn't take him into custody." He observed slowly.

"Yes, that is generally what happens. We will be there tomorrow, at three pm." She stated flatly, meeting the Professor's gaze steadily. The professor peered at her, steel in his blue-grey eyes. He had never before wished his black, unsettling eyes back in his head.

"So, if I want to accompany you, I would best to be there… at the manor, that is… no earlier than three?" he stated slowly, putting a very strong emphasis on 'earlier'.

"Yes. While there are rules we must follow…" the woman said with significant emphasis on the words 'rules' and 'follow', "It does not preclude you being present for the questioning. However, if you have a… prior… commitment, you may be too encumbered to attend. Given our earlier… encounter, I certainly hope that is the case." She replied coldly. "Good day." She stated abruptly, and quickly quit the room.

For the first time, he gave the woman a genuine smile, but it did not reach his eyes. "Good day."

The professor exhaled slowly as the woman saw herself out. Merlin! She had just told him to go to the Manor and interrogate the drunken bastard and find the girl himself. He almost felt guilty for the implications that her Department was completely incompetent. Well, he conceded to himself, maybe the Department was, but the Director was all Slytherin.

He steepled his hands in contemplation. He would need a sobriety potion laced with both versitatum and a memory draught… hmmm… not something that combined well. It would almost be a welcome puzzle if the welfare of a small Slytherin girl didn't lie in the balance. He rose to make his way to his lab.

Jena was finishing her lunch, when she again heard her father. She took a few hurried bites, she was starving by the time the night was over, and hunger was a gnawing pit in her stomach each morning, she could ill afford to waste the food. She crept to the door to listen, afraid of getting caught, but afraid of what was to come more.

"The Bloody ministry is checking on the brat. If she was upstairs, she would be out of sight and no questions! She could make 100 galleons on a Saturday night, easy. That's all I'm asking. I even have the customers lined up!"

"Ames is throwing a right fit! And if I don't get the money from the girl or find more like her, then where will I be without the profits from upstairs? They make double what the booze and food do!" he said. "It simply too risky, you said so yourself that the ministry is coming around." Beaumont said gruffly. "She's paid of 50 galleons of your debt, Kearns. Slow down on the broads and booze and you'll be fine." He said, turning form the man.

"Fine. But when my debts paid up, I am taking the brat where someone will put her ass to work, and I'll get my money then!" her father stormed.

"That'so? Fine. You convince Ames, and I'll rent you a room and she can work it. But the rent is a 100 a week for her, and if she don't make more'n that, she'll work it off herself and you won't see a knut." The man huffed, waggling a finger in the man's face. "But if you can't convince Ames…" the man trailed threateningly.

She watched through the crack as her father gave Beaumont a triumphant smile. "Tell Ames I'm her first customer."

Jena fled to the sink and lost her meager meal as her stomach lurched. She hoped with all her being that Ames would turn her father down, but she knew that fate had never been kind to her.

Professor Savoy made his way, unbidden once again, into Kearns Manor. He made no pretense of not breaking in this time. He was polyjuiced… it would do him no good to get carted off by Aurors. He found the resident Lord sprawled over his bed, still partially clothed, one boot on and snoring loudly. He conjured a regal looking wingback from the wreckage of furniture in the dingy room and sat quietly, finally flicking his wand in disgust.

"Enerverate".

The man spluttered into bleary eyed wakefulness, "Wha…"

"Ah, so we meet again, Lord Kearns."

"Wha… What? Who the hell are you? What do you think you are doing in my home? Get out!" the man blustered.

Professor Savoy merely rolled his eyes. "I am a friend, of a sort. I have brought you a sobriety potion. You will feel much better in a moment." He said mildly. He was occluding his mind as stringently has he dared. The only reason that he still held onto his wand and was not using every dark curse he ever knew of was that if the man couldn't tell him where the girl was if his tongue had been ripped out.

"A friend? I don't know you! Get out!"

Professor Savoy displayed the potion. "Surely you recognize the potion? Wouldn't a friend who saw you out last night bring you a potion?" he sat the vial carefully down with a clink on the small nightstand beside the man.

Lord Kearns clumsily hefted the vial. It was pink and slightly foamy, as all sobriety potions tended to be, and still sealed.

"What apothecary is this?" he asked, eyeing the seal warily.

"A very old one," he replied, "but if you'd rather not…" he said mildly, holding out his hand as if to take the potion back.

That was all the encouragement the miserable man needed in his incapacitated state, and he popped the seal and downed the potion in one go.

Professor Savoy smirked as he watched the eyes lose focus, even as the man's pallor improved.

"What's t'at? I feel funny," slurred Kearns, his tongue thick in his mouth.

"No matter, you won't recall much of what we will discuss, and unfortunately, my time was limited, so I was unable to give the potion the property of making you suffer the hangover you so richly deserve. But now, we must hurry, because the potion is short acting. Where is Jena?"

"What?" replied the man dumbly. "You know about the brat?"

"Yes, I know about your daughter, Lord Kearns. Where is she?" he said trying to keep his voice neutral. Although the potion would insure that he couldn't lie, it would not force him to talk as there were no compulsion properties to the simple brew. He would not get his information quickly if he began by antagonizing the man. So, he began calmly.

"Finally earning her keep, the brat is. Made less that five galleons a day until now, but she'll be working the night shift tonight," the man disgustingly emphasized the last two words, making both Professor Savoy's stomach plummet and his blood boil. Lord Kearns, oblivious to his new 'friend's' ire, continued on. "You interested, is that why you are here, eh? You did me a favor with that potion; I could get you a discount. What do you say to 20 galleons for an hour?" the man asked with a suggestive smirk.

"Lord Kearns, you are selling your daughter, for 20 galleons an hour, for what exactly?" he said, voice and face held carefully neutral only through the tight rein of the DADA professors occulmancy shields.

"Anything you want. I think she's done this before, so she should be good…"

Able to tolerate no more, the Professor finally snapped. "Fine. Where? When?"

"The Ugly Mug, after 10 pm, but… ehm… to get that discount," Professor Savoy watched the man squirm as the versatim part of the potion finally kicked in. The man could not finish the rest of his sentence.

Smirking, Professor Savoy produced his wand seemingly from nowhere.

"Kearns, I assure you, I will get your daughter from that place, and see that she speaks with the proper authorities." The man snapped his mouth shut looking blurrily askance at his new friend. "And since you won't recall most of this conversation, anyway," the DADA professor took great satisfaction in hitting the man with the hardest blasting curse he knew. "That is only a small taste of what you deserve for what you have done to that child."

Professor Savoy cast a powerful sleeping spell on the man with his old wand, and tucked it away. Neither the potion, marked with an old Death Eater seal, nor the magical signature left, could be traced to his new identity, and if he could orchestrate it, then the man would become very familiar with a cell in Azkaban.

Professor Savoy apparated quickly into the town and took the antidote for the polyjuice. The first inquiry he made told him that the Ugly Mug was an unsavory spot on the wrong side of the town. He quickly made his way there, and looked in through the door. It was still early, barely ten in the morning, but what he saw made his heart freeze in his chest. Her back was turned to him, but his young snake was there, back turned, struggling to get a heavy stool on top of the bar, the last one to be put up in such a position before the floors could be cleaned. Her small, thin arms and shoulders shook with the strain, and yet the child persisted. When the stool was safely on the table, the child slumped in exhaustion, arm against the table and head buried against her arm, obviously trying to gather her strength to continue.

Professor Savoy wasted no time getting the front door unlocked. That work was too hard for a healthy child her age, let alone this child, and he had to know if she was well. He would remove her at once.

Jena had just finished putting the last bar stool on the table. Her shoulders were on fire, and she had to mop the floor. Beaumont had been down early, and there were angry conversations swirling about. First with Ames and Beaumont last night, and then her father had spent several hours with Ames last night, and now everyone was avoiding her. She was sick with anxiety as she knew, as sure of anything in her life, that she would be forced upstairs this night. She would beg, and would point out the work she'd done, how clean the floor was, how happy others were that they weren't doing the washing and scrubbing, but no one had ever listened to her pleas before, so she had no hope that anyone would do so this time, either, but would still beg not to go upstairs.

Jena pressed her forehead against the arm that was resting on the table as she fought to get her breath back as her mind raced with anxiety, when she heard the front door, which had a cheap brass bell that clanked rather than jingled, made a noise that told her that someone had entered. Surprised, she turned around quickly.

There in front of her was her Professor, a man she had given up all hope this week of every seeing again. When she realized that school had started and it had been days, she had given up all hope. Seeing him, her mind reeled and she grasped at the table behind her as if her legs would give if she did not, and idly she realized that was likely true.

Her mouth opened and closed once as Professor Savoy regarded her with a piercing gaze.

"You came." she said, her voice thick with emotion, as Professor Savoy watched as surprise, awe, gratitude and fear all flicked with manic speed across her face, and tears threatened to fall from the young girl's eyes.

Professor Savoy's eyes narrowed as she saw the ugly marring of bruises in various stages of healing about the girls thin, tense face. Sensing his young ward was at her wit's end, he simply opened his arms invitingly as he crouched, and watched as the child, looking much younger than her eleven years, bit her lip and flew into his waiting arms. He hefted her up onto one hip, and winced inwardly, as he realized that she was much lighter than the last time he did this very thing.

He turned sharply as he heard a door swing open, and a short, squat balding man with cold pale blue eyes regarded him dispassionately.

"Who are you, and what are you doing with my servant?"

Next Chapter: Jena finally catches a break…


	30. Chapter 30 Trials

Disclaimer:

Not mine!

Sorry about the long hiatus… family health issues in the way – I appreciate those of you who patiently waited. I also appreciate those of you who impatiently waited. Perhaps more so than the patient ones, come to think of it! On with the story...

Professor Savoy shifted his weight so the hip that was supporting the child was slightly behind him, and his free arm was forward. He had not brought his wand to bear, but could do so easily. He did not want to do so while the child was in harm's way, however. He could feel the child, who had whether from fear or exhaustion, placed her head down on his shoulder in the crook of his neck and was trembling, but she stilled at the man's words.

"My apologies, I don't believe we have met. My name is Professor Savoy, I am the Defense of the Dark Arts Professor for Hogwarts. There has been some misunderstanding. Ms. Kearns is already bound to me though the school as part of her scholarship agreement. Surely, she could not be indentured or apprenticed to you, as well?" he said quietly.

"Apprenticed? That's rich. No, she's employed here! She has a job." he explained, with feigned friendliness, "I'd like to know how you got in here?"

"I apologize for my overzealousness. The Aurors working with the Wizarding Family Services on Ms. Kearns disappearance asked me if I could come and help question her father on her whereabouts. Since her father is…" the Professor paused, allowing the man to grasp the full import of his words, "indisposed, if you will, I was asking around her home. I stumbled across her here. Perhaps you would be willing to answer a few questions, Mister… I'm sorry, your name sir?" he asked, somewhat stiffly.

"Aurors? That kid isn't missing. Just ask Kearns. The left the brat here to work twelve days ago." The man said, appearing flabbergasted.

"You do realize that there are laws that prohibit wizarding children under the age of 14 from either working or being apprenticed?" the Professor said sternly, meeting the man's eyes with an accusing glare.

"You said yourself that she was apprenticed to you!" the man snapped out, falling on the defensive.

"No, I said she was bound to me. If she remains in school for 3 years, when she turns 14 she will be required to apprentice to me. There is a big difference. The child was released from school after a traumatic event in which she needed continuing medical care. You provided it while the child was in your care, did you not?"

"You-you utter bastard! You come in here making all kinds of accusations, what are your intentions with the girl? How do I know you are really some professor, and aren't just going to put her out on the street to do Merlin knows what? You break into my pub, and you…"

The man spluttered to stop when he saw the wand leveled at his chest. He hadn't even seen the man move.

"Let's begin again, I think. You are?" Professor Savoy hissed icily.

"Beaumont, Craig Beaumont." The man snapped out in irritation.

"Very well, Mr. Beaumont. We will forget for a moment your disgusting accusations. I think your reaction tells me what I need to know about the status of my student. Now, she will be questioned, you will be questioned, anyone you forced her to work with will be questioned, and her father will be questioned, in all likelihood before the sun sets today. As the child is still alive, and I have no proof you brought permanent physical harm to the child, I'll not get _personally_ involved but I will ask that you and your staff be checked very carefully for any questionable activities immediately." Before Mr. Beaumont could begin another tirade in protest, he continued. "Since the child is relatively unharmed, I will not stay and wait for their arrival, but rather return the child to the school That will mean that you will have an hour, possibly two, to organize… your establishment. Lord Kearns, obviously has some things to answer for, Mr. Beaumont, and I am sure you are going to want to distance yourself from that, if you are able. Now, do you have any problems with me returning Ms. Kearns into Wizarding Family Service's care?" He was surprised to feel the exhausted child stiffen in his arms at this.

"None." The man snapped, slapping the bar, "We did right by that child. She got food and clothes here, more than her damn sire has given her. A right mess when she got here, could hardly stand to look at her."

"Save it for the Aurors, Beaumont." Professor Savoy said tiredly. He skimmed the man's mind briefly to make sure it was safe to turn his back and leave. The man was not thinking of hexing him but rather about… Oh no. It was all Professor Savoy could do not to hex the man into the next lifetime. He spun out of the doorway and left, before he would do something he would regret. Savoy strode quickly down to the safest apparition point without addressing the girl. He spun in place and thought of Hogsmead.

When they landed, he made no hesitation, and started toward the castle.

"Where?" came a quiet question, barely voiced from the child.

"Hush, Jena. You are going to the infirmary. One thing at a time, let's get you checked out and cleaned up. Are you well after apparition?"

"Yes, sir." The child whispered, but there was a quaver in her voice.

"You are not going back there, and you are not going back to your father, Jena. It will be alright, child." He said quietly, increasing his pace. He was shocked that he was able to walk so quickly. The child was no burden at all! The child fell silent however, and he thought he felt her trembling lessen, he wasn't sure.

The child smelled of cheap cleaners, grease and stale ale. The clothing she was in was worse than what she arrived at Hogwarts in just months ago. Truly, he was at a loss. He had helped many children from difficult situations over the years, but never had they been thrust into a worse one while under his care. All good thoughts of Ms. Breakthorpe and her intervention with the father so that he could get to the child quickly evaporated on seeing a child so desperate that she would collapse into the arms of the first adult who checked on her as if her life depended on it. Soberly, he realized, it likely did.

"Madam Pomfrey" he called out in a soft but carrying voice as he entered.

She was bustling around the infirmary, which was populated by at least a dozen students.

"Not another one!" she exclaimed, keeping her voice pitched low as not to disturb the children who had already managed to sleep.

"Madame, what are you on about?" he asked, slightly bewildered.

"Happens every year, some worse than others, but this is the worse yet. Kids go home and get exposed to all kinds of illnesses over the holiday, just to bring them back for the start of term. Lousy bout of the Wizard's flu, it is," she explained as she quickly bustled over, trying to make out the identity of the likely first year in the man's arms. "Then again, at least I have a decent potions stock, thanks to a certain someone." The woman was close enough to finally get a glimpse at the child in his arms. Oh! It's Jena. Thank goodness, we need to have a look at her." The woman exclaimed, and looked about her with a troubled face. "Goodness, I don't think she ought to be around so many cases of the Wizards flu."

"That's alright, Madam Pomfrey. Let me take the child to my quarters, and I'll tend her as best I can. You can come do a more thorough scan once you have this group settled."

"Thank you Eugene." she said, relief evident in her face. "I have complete confidence you can make Ms. Kearns comfortable until I arrive." She said. Without wasting any more time he quickly made his way to the dungeons. He was growing worried. Except to ask where they were going the child had been completely silent.

He quickly brought her down to the dungeons, and after a moment's hesitation, sat down with her on the couch. He slid Jenna off his hip, and keeping one hand on her shoulder, slipped onto his knees on the floor in front of her bringing them eye to eye, or it would have if the child would only look up.

"Jena, look at me please. I need you to tell me where you are injured."

"I'm ok, Sir, just really tired." She replied quietly.

"Jena, do not lie to me. I see bruises. How were you hurt?"

Jena had tried desperately not to think. Pain and fatigue washed over her in alternating waves with relief that she was safe, for now, and then the impending fear of being in Wizarding Family services care. The aurors at the ministry had been horrible. She stared down at the hands in her lap and shook her head. She could feel, painfully, the anxiety and anger in her teacher, but she couldn't understand the cause or what to do about it. She shook her head again.

Professor Savoy sighed. The brief glimpse he had managed of the child's eyes were hollow, she was beyond her limit, he guessed, and overwhelmed and couldn't respond. He drew his wand and cast a simple diagnostic. Exhaustion, malnutrition, a recently healed concussion, bruised ribs, and a few recently healed cuts and minor burns. He sighed. The child had been beaten, that much was certain, but by whom and how badly weren't the concerns right now. She needed to rest, and a check of the concussion and a meal. Everything else could wait. Considering her for a moment, he decided to start by getting the child settled and rested before trying to talk to her.

"Jena, you don't have to talk to me right now. Would you like a bath before we settle in?" he asked quietly. At her nod, he called for his elf.

"Whisky" he called out. The elf had served his prior incarnation as well. Somehow, all the elves were still ignoring his dual identity, but Whisky, he knew, had been a nanny to a pureblood family before Hogwarts, and had been called on to keep watch over his snakes who were ill in the hospital wing, especially at the height of his spying days. Whisky was serious for an elf, and endlessly optimistic. More important to the Professor, was that the elf had no problem helping children bathe, and as much as he cared for his snakes, he did not want his couch smelling like Jena's current robe.

The elf arrived with a pop. Bowing, but not actually saying anything.

"Whiskey, this is Ms. Kearns. She needs a bath and fresh robes, but her things are not here. She has had a bit of a trial. Will you see her into a bath, and find her something fresh to put on? Please do not leave her alone longer than absolutely necessary. When she is done, please bring her back here and summon me."

"Yes, Master. Whisky knows what to do. The elf gently took the child's hand, and led her to the bath.

Professor Savoy sat near the fire, sipping a single malt and considering the small form tucked in the duvet he had conjured earlier in the day and a borrowed sleep dress. She would likely sleep for twelve more hours. The child had been mostly silent, and he had realized after a brief brush across her mind that the child was in shock, and needed food and rest more than he needed answers. The mediwitch had come and confirmed his diagnostic, and noted that the bulk of the child's injuries had come from three separate incidents, days apart from each other. When asked if anyone had hit her besides her father, the child had managed to shake her head. For this day only, he thought, he would give up his requirement of verbal answers.

A soft knock at his door, brought him from his musings, and he cast a privacy spell at his davenport. No reason risking the child waking up.

A he made his way to his door, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He still didn't recognize himself as this man, he thought, but shoved that discomfiture behind his occulmancy shields. He had a very sober meeting with the Headmistress and Ms. Breakethorpe to attend to.

"Good evening." He greeted the two woman quietly and ushered the two into the seating area near the fire. He paused behind Director Breakthorpe as she came up short, seeing the child resting on the couch.

"Professor, why is the child not in the hospital wing?" she asked, voice incredulous.

"We have an outbreak of Wizards flu, and she needs careful monitoring until she is over the shock." He explained quietly. "As her head of house, that duty falls to me."

"A couch? Couldn't you summon something more appropriate?" the woman's voice was scathing.

"Sorry Director, I tried to transfigure an elf nook and some flour sacks in a pantry respectively, but was waiting…"

"Enough, Sever…Savoy." The Headmistress looked at the man in shock as he looked back at her in amazement, which he hoped he had been successful in looking bewildered. "Sorry, Professor Savoy, it's been a long day, and I'm tired. Sarcasm must be a universal Slytherin trait. Be kind professor, we have earned some much needed political capital here, I won't have your frustration be it's undoing," she said sternly, but belied her tone by patting the man on the arm. She gave her a half smirk he'd adopted. Smiling, even in his new form was still difficult.

"Yes, Headmistress. Tea?" He offered, as he indicated the chairs next to where Jena rested, and cast a muffilato charm to ensure the child's rest would not be disturbed, but he could still close by if she were to stir. He must be tired. He had an almost overwhelming urge to offer lemon drops. He sighed. Would it be that things weren't so serious, and the child next to them was well again. How did the adults in this small girl's life continue to fail her so spectacularly?

"The child is quite small enough that the sofa seemed prudent given I'd have guests this night, but still need to watch the child. Asking for a conference in my bedchamber seemed inappropriate." He informed them acerbically as he served the tea that had popped into existence almost the moment he had offered. Likely Whisky's work.

"I… well, I apologize." Director Breakthorpe replied haltingly. "After such a failure with a child, it's hard not to react to any new circumstance. I can see the child is resting, and quite comfortably at that. We have much to discuss."

"I assure you, Ms. Breakethorp, that you will have the support of our school in any decisions regarding Ms. Kearns."

"That's just it. We can make no decisions until the outcome of the trial. The Auror Department has filed charges of child endangerment, battery, and child prostitution. If the father isn't convicted, it will be difficult to end all parental rights. It is very likely they will need the child's testimony to gain that conviction."

"What?" asked Professor McGonnagal, raising a hand to stop the angry retort on her DADA professor's lips. "You can't be serious. The child has been beaten and starved. The men her father lined up stated they had done… unspeakable things to the child before the end of the war, and were going to do those things again, and her father was trying to profit from it. Are you mad?" the stern woman barked out, eyes blazing.

"We don't think Jena quite remembers what happened before," replied Ms. Breakthorpe. It's not uncommon for children to repress such horrors, and it would be damaging to her to force her to confront that at a trial. We can negotiate for limits regarding time previous to being in her father's care, but that is about all. The right of the wizard to face his accused unfortunately outweighs the emotional needs of a distraught child," explained Director Breakthrope, helplessness lending a bitter note to her voice.

"What is the likely sentence if the charges are just child endangerment and battery?" asked Professor Savoy.

"Three years. Custodial supervision for a year, maybe two after that."

"That's all?" asked Headmistress McGonagal, clearly scandalized.

"That's best case, if the maximum sentence is doled out," replied Ms. Breakthorp.

"And if Jena does testify on the child rape charge?"

"Seven years. Jena will reach her majority prior to his release. It's the safest thing we can do. I don't think my department can protect her. He is a vile man, make no mistake, and he sees the child as a means to profitnothing more."

"Who will look after the child, then? Where will she be placed?" asked the Headmistress, when the silence had stretched on too long, and Professor Savoy seemed lost in contemplation.

"We haven't any placement spots for a complex case such as this. Jena needs to be in a house where there are only a few children, and where the family can focus on her physical, magical, and mental recovery."

"I'll take the child until a suitable family may be found," stated the Professor quietly. "I want to be kept apprised of your progress. I'll do what I can to prepare the child for the trial. All her belongings were sold. Are there resources to aid in getting her new provisions?" he asked tiredly.

"Yes, but not much. Likely her father will be forced to sell his Manor to mount a defense. If he is found guilty, any remaining funds will go in a trust to be used for his care. It's not much of a property after all these years, but wizarding real still fetch a tidy sum. There might be something left for the child." Professor Breakthorpe said. "Well, I won't keep you. I will owl you on trial details as soon as they inform us, but it will likely take months for it to begin as Kearns has to find and retain counsel."

The women departed, but not before the Headmistress placed her hand on his arm. Eugene, I owe you an apology. I passed off your concern as the worry of an overly concerned first year teacher, but you have the instincts of a veteran, and this child suffered greatly for it. I can't believe what this child has been through, or how many more who were hurt by being children of parents on the wrong side of things. Take care of her, and I'll do my best to be more supportive."

"Thank you, Headmistress." He replied with a nod, and quietly closed his door.

"Child, what am I to do with you?"


	31. Chapter 31  What's Next?

Hello folks:

I apologize for the long, long hiatus. Health issues within my nuclear family keep me stretched thin these days, but some of these issues have resolved, and I have had more time to focus on my writing. Thank you for all your – well wishes. Posting will continue, albeit slowly. Patience is a virtue, and I know all the readers on FF are virtuous. Truly!

Disclaimer: I write this stuff because it's FUN. Not unless someone starts paying me for having fun, which hasn't happened in the first 40 years of my life, I will be making no money… On with the story!

Professor Savoy sat with a tumbler of amber liquid nestled in his hand, gazing unseeingly at the fire. Jena had yet to leave his quarters. He had briefly considered having her return to the common room with Mr. Murphy tonight, and hence to her own dormitory, but her cowed countenance had him deeply concerned. She had, every since her first day at the school been a quiet, serious child. But now, she didn't make eye contact at all, unless forced to do so. She spoke seldom, but only in response to direct questions, and not

always then. Having any sort of a conversation with her was agonizing. It had only been two days, but tomorrow was Monday, what ought to be the first day of classes for the child. He had her laying down to rest after every meal, and she seemed to need it, despite being dosed with dreamless sleep the past two nights. It spoke of emotional trauma.

Director Breakthorpe had thought she needed to speak to someone about her ordeal and family situation, and had recommended that role be filled by a woman as her most current abuse, and likely past abuse, had mostly come from men. However, it was clear from the child's body language that Madame Pomfrey wouldn't do in the role of counselor. It wasn't that the child was churlish with her exactly, but the level of distrust displayed would make one think the child had been abused by the medi-witch, rather than her father. He sighed. As much as he didn't want the role, a trial with Minerva this

morning had been worse. As for the child's upcoming lessons with Trelawney – well, it was obviously doubtful from Jena's reaction to his brief explanation of the lessons that she would tolerate the divination teacher any better. He sighed, and downed the rest of his drink in one go. The child should be up from her post-dinner rest, and he would tackle the role of counselor. It was his duty, and he would not fail. He cast a breath-freshening charm. He had already noted the child seemed to freeze in the presence of alcohol, and although he had the occasional drink to relax, he had stopped doing it in the child's presence after the first night, when it almost triggered a panic attack.

He entered his main sitting room, where his davenport had been a makeshift bed for the child. Whisky was already setting out cocoa and biscuits. His own house elf seemed determined to help with the task of getting some weight on the child, but other house elves avoided the child completely. Yet another mystery about the child - too many mysteries, and not nearly enough time to solve them, he thought to

himself sourly. The child obviously had just woken and was trying to get her bearings when she looked up sharply, likely having heard him enter the room. He noted with an odd feeling in his stomach that she seemed to relax immediately, even if only minutely, at his presence.

"I trust you rested well?" he asked, settling himself in a chair opposite.

"Aye sir." She replied quietly, obviously remembering the earlier admonishments to reply to all questions from him verbally. He was exasperated by the range of nods, head shakes and shrugs he had received form this child. He was determined to accept no more.

"Jena," he began, suddenly frustrated with the uncertainty he could hear in his own voice. He cleared his throat, and started again. "How do you feel about starting classes tomorrow?"

"I'll manage, sir." She stated solemnly, eyes meeting his briefly and then quickly settling on the porcelain mug she was now cradling in her lap.

"That is not an answer to the question I asked." He stated slowly, reinforcing his occulmancy shields hastily to shove his irritation behind. Getting angry or frustrated with the child just made her freeze more.

"I feel like I'll manage?" the child said uncertainly, eyes piercing him, looking for any sort of negative response from him, he was sure.

"You don't have to just 'manage', Jena." He said, sighing heavily, and reaching for the cocoa himself. Really, he'd rather have tea or something stronger, but Whisky was right in getting extra calories into the child any way possible. "Do you feel like you would be able to get through a day without resting?"

"I really don't know, sir." She said almost too quietly, looking away at the fire suddenly. What was it with this child?

"Then I don't think you are ready to return to classes just yet. Or at least, not all your classes." He sighed, thinking that perhaps he should try a different tack.

"Jena, I know what happened was horrible, but you are back at Hogwarts. It takes time to get over such an event, but it would be easier for you to do so if you would simply talk about what is upsetting you." Well, not very Slytherin, he thought, but the child was not being cajoled.

"I am not upset," the child said, surprise on her face as her eyes came back to his from the fire. "I am glad to be here," she said a little more loudly. "I just…" she trailed off, biting her lower lip and taking a quick drink of the cocoa.

"Just? Jena, there is no wrong thing to say. Director Breakthorpe believes you will get past your recent trials if you speak to someone. I am fairly certain that you don't wish to speak to either Madame Pomfrey, or Headmistress McGonagall. Am I correct?"

The child's gaze snapped back to his. Surprised mingled with fear and apprehension. Ah. So she was used to being the one who did the reading, not the one being found out. "That being the case, you will have to settle for me. Not talking about what is disturbing you is simply not an option. So, please, you 'just what', exactly, Jena?"

The child's jaw opened, and worked a bit, fish like, before it snapped closed firmly and the child shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"What on earth are you sorry for, Jena." The man asked softly.

"I… I shouldn't be wasting your time like this. Madame Pomfrey, it's her job right? I should…?" The child trailed off uncertainly and again she gazed in her half-empty mug as if it held the answers to all universal problems.

"Jena, you are not wasting my time. I asked that Professor Pomfrey or Headmistress McGonagall speak with you simply because Professor Breakthorpe thought it would be easier for you to speak to a woman. I am willing to listen to you, and actually insist." He said firmly. Again, the child looked up with that piercing gaze. It was dark, in a way, in its intensity, almost like his former self, except the eyes. Jena's eyes seemed to become more grey, lighter even, although he sensed the gaze as darkening. It was perplexing. It must be her magic that changed the very sense of her gaze, he thought idly while he waited for the child to continue. It was unsettling.

"I just wish I knew where I go next? It's hard not knowing. What if they return me to my father? He was so angry…" Jena started uncertainly, but trailed off quickly.

"That is not going to happen, Jena." He said firmly, trying but failing to keep the anger out of his voice.

"But Wizarding Family Services decides, right? They already sent me there before. Twice really. You said I was still in their custody, but you were my temporary guardian. Weren't you my temporary guardian before?" she asked fearfully. "I guess I really don't understand."

Well, that was news to him. In custody before? Oh, of course. When she had been detained by the Auror's to be taught a lesson about pilfering food when she was starving. The Ministry certainly had taught this child a lesson, alright, he thought ruefully, and if then hadn't already, their current mishandling would have convinced this child - never to trust it, or its minions. Well, that certainly matched his experiences, but it did really explain the child's fear. He had been assigned as the child's temporary guardian, and this time had even volunteered to do so. Well, it was obvious what this child needed. Concrete reassurance and some very concrete decisions on her behalf would likely allow her to regain the emotional ground that she had lost over the last few weeks.

"Jena, you will not be going back to your father. He has been arrested, and there are charges pending. He will be going to prison. Even if that were not true, I would not allow it. A very young and incompetent witch was responsible for your return to your father, and I promise you that I will never let that happen again. I will personally see that only someone who will make sure that you are safe and cared for ever gets custody. You have my word. I realize you have no basis to trust that yet, but I want you to try to trust that. As time goes on, that will get easier."

The child's eyes became bright with unshed tears, and she looked away.

"You do need to talk about what has happened to you Jena, and not just because it will help you. There will be a trial, and the more you are able to talk about, the longer your father will be someplace he can't hurt you, or anyone else." He watched carefully, but either she was too distraught over the emotionally charged declaration of guardianship, or struggling with something else, he couldn't tell.

"I know you are very upset Jena, and you have spent a great deal of your time here at Hogwarts either injured or recovering from injuries. You have studied very hard and I am proud of what you accomplished, child. As your guardian, however, I think it's too much. I want to keep you out of classes for a few more days, and when you do go back, I want you going to the basic courses only. I have faith that in the coming years as you put this all behind you, you will be able to make up those courses which you drop this year. During the day, I'll ask Whisky to stay with you while you rest or study, or you will be with me. Do you have any questions?" he asked as kindly as his limited patience allowed.

He watched as Jena wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, and took another gulp of the rapidly cooling cocoa. "But the scholarship - sir, will that ruin it? How will I pay for school then? When can I start working?" The child swallowed nervously, fear suddenly evident on her face and she averted her eyes again.

Well, that's what he got for not dissuading the child that she needed to earn her keep, he thought reluctantly. What was it going to take to give this child a sense of self-worth? This latest episode certainly did nothing to dissuade her from her pervasive belief that she was only valuable as a house elf.

"As your guardian, you will leave such things to me. Part of the time you spend with me will be helping the school. You must not worry about such things. Now, I want to make sure you have understood what we have been discussing. Who is your guardian?"

"You are, sir." She replied.

"Jena, what did I say about looking at me?" he asked firmly.

"I am to look at you when addressing you, sir." She replied meekly meeting his gaze. "Sorry sir."

"Quite alright, Jena. You will get used to it. Are you ever going to go back to your father?"

"No, sir," came the child's quiet reply.

"And why is that?" he asked, letting the soft half smile play on his lips to put the child further at ease.

"Because my father is going to prison." She stated uncertainly. Professor Savoy wished that answer had sounded a lot more convincing.

"That's right, but more than that. I am your guardian, and I will not allow it." He reassured quietly.

"But I will not be staying with you, will I sir?" The question was barely spoken, not much more than a whisper.

"It is my hope child, that we will find you a home where you have two parents, both a mother and a father, who truly want you and want to provide you a loving home. But until we find that, child, yes, you will stay with me, but I do hope that we are able to give you the family you deserve in very short order." He explained calmly. The child sat very still, considering him in her careful, piercing way for what seemed like a very long time, which was likely just a few minutes. He kept his occulmancy shields high, and tried to project calm, protection, and stability. Maybe that worked, because suddenly the child nodded once and looked away to the fire again, taking another gulp of cocoa. He wondered absently why the child often raced through the evening treat. Most children gobbled up sweets, true, but in a very greedy way, and many children savored it, slowly. Jena did neither. She sat very still, and every so often would take much too large gulp. Odd. Maybe he would ask her at some point.

"Now, even with no classes for you tomorrow, I want you to spend a half hour before bed working on your letters, and then wish that you retire early. You are not yet fully recovered, even with the potions.

"Yes, sir." She said, moving quickly to relieve herself of the cocoa and remaining biscuits."

"Jena, I meant after you finish." He chided gently, as he rose. "We will get you properly settled, yet, child. Just have some patience." He stated trying to sound both more patient and less pessimistic than he felt, and left the child to her thoughts. Well, that hadn't gone as badly as he thought.

Jena finished her cocoa. She really loved it; rich warm, not too sweet. It made her sleepy. She thought over her interaction with the professor. When she felt him enter the room, first she had felt some warmth in his emotions, yes but doubted that she was the cause, given how quickly she had picked up irritation and uncertainty. She didn't' think he was lying to her exactly, but it was clear from his emotions, and what he said that her guardianship was a burden for the man. He said it himself – he was going to find a mother and a father, two people that wanted her. That meant two things - first and foremost, that he did not want her. After all, would he have to go looking if he knew he himself wanted her? And secondly, he would eventually discover that no one would want her, and no one would love her. It simply was not to be, for her. Surely, if it were possible, it would have happened by now. Her own father didn't, and her mother… no, she would not think of that. She would not remember. She took another gulp of her cocoa, wishing it were scalding so that the pain would block out such thoughts, but that was not to be, either.

She didn't really want to go elsewhere. Wasn't that the real problem, she asked herself tiredly? The professor didn't seem to understand that she caused people to tire of her, she caused the impatience, irritation, annoyance, and no family would keep her for long. Should she tell him? That likely, if she remained at Hogwarts, he would be saddled with her, year after year? Would he kick her out, then? Would it really do any good? Would he simply let her stay at the school, alone? But then again maybe, he would place her with a family that wanted her to go to a different school, or couldn't afford for her to go to school at all? Jena closed her eyes against the sudden fear and pain these thoughts evoked, and tried to forget – forget what it felt like when Professor Savoy had found her, held her, and rescued her from the Ugly Mug and her fate there. To forget that someone fed her, kept her safe, let her rest. She couldn't miss what she didn't have, she thought desperately. What she had here with Professor Savoy wasn't real.

She always failed. She'd keep trying, because she knew nothing else, but it all seemed rather pointless. The tray flickered away as she replaced her empty cup, and she sought the warmth of the covers on the couch. The professor seemed pleased by her sleeping. She guessed she was probably less of a burden that way. She closed her eyes, and tried to think of nothing, to not remember.


	32. Chapter 32  Cursed

Disclaimer: Still not mine! Still writing – but still dealing with the family health issues. I won't abandon this story, and I will complete it, but possibly not before the Aztec calendar runs out. I don't think the world is going to end… I just think they ran out of rock. Seriously, does the world end when we run out of paper on the calendar? On with the story….

The first two weeks of January classes passed in a blur of the defense professor. The outbreak of the Wizard's flu had him in his lab every moment he wasn't caring for his charge. His charge…he let his thoughts wander as he moved from brewing on to the more mundane task of bottling the high-potency fever reducer just finished. He knew he was walking a fine line with her. He wanted to offer her all the reassurances he could. She desperately needed reassurance, but he was finding it difficult to offer them without any false promises; he would not lie to the child. She seemed, at first blush, to accept his word, but within a day she was again shooting him those unsure yet piercing glances when she thought he was otherwise occupied and wouldn't notice. He was loathe to admit it, but he could barely handle the child. It was taking all of his 20 plus years of spy experience to keep her sane. How would Ms. Breakthorpe ever find a family that could help this child heal? One step at a time, he firmly scolded himself. First, keep her sane; second get her ready for the trial. Tomorrow, she would return to her classes. She would only be in the basics, and he wanted her to spend at least another week in his quarters. The Headmistress has added a guestroom, but the child seemed to prefer to rest on his sofa. Maybe his guest room would be a good transition point to get her ready for the dorms. He sighed. Monday was going to be a very long day.

Professor Savoy had had the elves deliver a light breakfast for three. His prefects and Mr. Murphy would be helping keep an eye on the child. Mr. Murphy had a pass to be late to his classes today to escort Jena. He shook his head ruefully, he wished it had been his idea, but again, his Slytherin had surprised him. He had already visited Jena this week, once. Jena had seemed surprised and pleased to see him, but had been wary - very wary, yet again but upon questioning would not or could not articulate why. Baby steps, he thought, but his thoughts were interrupted by a light tapping at his door. The 5th year stepped through as he invited him in.

"Good morning sir. Is Jena ready for classes?" he asked with a small smile, but concern was evident in the boy's eyes.

"Yes, I believe she is, but she is anxious. I have no first class this day, and Jena doesn't start until second class either. I took the liberty of informing Professor Binns that you would be absent from your first class as well. I thought we'd have a light breakfast with Jena, and you could proceed from there. I let her sleep a bit later to be well rested for today." He explained quietly, as he ushered the boy to the table. He turned and would have gone to coax his charge from her room, except she stood in the doorway, hesitantly, her serious gaze surveying the table, Austin and himself in rapid succession.

"Good morning Jena!" Austin greeted enthusiastically. While he noticed her face was thin and pinched yet, her still damp hair hung a bit limply around her face. To Austin, she looked immeasurably better than just a few days before. Her pale skin had lost the sickly hue of earlier bruising, dark circles from lack of sleep and the pallor of anxiety and starvation. He noticed that her eyes quickly sought the Professor, who gave her an encouraging nod, and she murmured what he could only assume was a quiet greeting to him. It was too quiet for Austin to catch, but he let that go as she found her seat. The Professor gave the boy a small almost smile and encouraging nod as well. He had already had a full breakfast, but if a bit of fruit on his plate and a piece of toast put Jena at ease about her own meal, he could eat.

There was very little conversation between the three of them. Professor Savoy worried that it was too soon for this step. His charge was too quiet, too unsure of herself and was still not articulate her needs without excessive prompting. She had had a panic attack, and a couple of close calls for them, and what might have been a flashback of some kind, and all without leaving his quarters in the past ten days. The past two days had been mostly uneventful though. He hoped a return to normalcy would ease the small child's fears.

"Alright you two, time to head to class." he instructed. He watched approvingly as Mr. Murphy gathered Jena's bag for her after helping her into her cloak. Her shoulders had sustained nearly constant strain over the break, and she had not finished the potion regiment to heal them. It had been quite the setback to the child, and the shoulders became sore and stiff very easily. Seeing one of his older snakes take such care put his mind at ease. There has been a house meeting, and he hopped the care the child received from her classmates would help, too. He sighed. He hated how little control he had over the situation.

Austin ushered Jena down the hallway leading out of the dungeons. He walked just behind and very closely to her. She glanced back nervously when she heard students ahead, and he gave her a reassuring smile. As they turned the corner to head toward the charms corridor, Jena froze. Austin stopped rather than collide with his charge, and watched worriedly as she backed against him. He could feel fine tremors as she began to shake. He set his hand lightly on her shoulder, and she flinched.

"It's all right, Jena. It's just some Hufflepuffs." He said quietly. She didn't answer. "We can wait for them to pass if you need to."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, swallowing hard. She shook her head, and took a few more hesitant steps. Austin stayed as close has he could, but didn't remove the hand from the girl's shoulder. The 'Puffs were ones he was acquainted with and gave a polite greeting and some quizzical looks at the unlikely duo, but he just shrugged at them to divert any questions. He walked Jena all the way into the charms classroom, seating her next to a year mate, Martin, who, unbeknownst to Jena, was to watch over her for Charms. The boy smiled kindly at Jena, who bit her lip and pulled out her book rather than say anything. Martin shot Austin a puzzled look, and he just shook his head minutely. They needed Jena to figure thing out on her own, Austin thought.

"I'll be back just before the end of class, Jena to take you to transfiguration." he said encouragingly. "Have a good class." It was going to be a long day.

The day had been torturously long, Jena thought, as she settled into her temporary bed in the Professor's quarters. All the people around her were anxious, worried, or upset in some degree. Every time she got scared or anxious, they became more so, and she had felt their flashes of disappointment. She felt like a failure. She was safe, right? People were looking after her. Hell, Austin has practically carried her to Professor Savoy's quarters. One look at her as she came in, and Professor Savoy had swept her up into his arms and carried her to the couch. He had sat there with her, like some gargantuan toddler, and she had let him. She guiltily recalled that she had luxuriated in simply being held until she could control the shaking. Austin had left, but had come back to sup with them. She had thought that today she was supposed to eat in the great hall for dinner. The relief she felt when that hadn't been the case had brought tears to her eyes, and when the Professor saw, he had felt the professor's disappointment again. Why couldn't she be good? If she continued to disappoint him, would he continue his care? How long before his disappointment turned into frustration and then anger? Would she be punished? She decided to try an jus enjoy the calm and safety she felt now, in this temporary bed, and try not to hope that this was her real bed, in her real family, her real life. Although exhausted, sleep was a long time coming for the child.

Professor Savoy surveyed his first years, anxious to have Jena back in his class for the first time since Christmas. The mixed Gryffindor and Slytherin class wasn't too troublesome; well, not as troublesome as such a highly volatile mix of students had been in a potions class room full of volatile ingredients, heavy metal objects such as cauldrons, and open flame sources, anyway. His eyes scanned the room quickly as he took role, landing briefly on his ward. She had slipped in, escorted by Austin, and found a seat quickly. She sat at the back, on the aisle next to the door. Morganna, her year mate assigned to watch out for her during this class, rolled her eyes as she entered and saw that she would have to sit at the back. Jena glanced at her puzzled, but made no comment, Professor Savoy noted. He realized that she seemed to choose that seat each time – no one behind her, and closest to the door. He sighed. It was obvious that a feeling of safety would be a long time coming to the child.

"Today, we will be examining common magical objects that help with curse detection, warding, or examining magical items and artifacts. As these objects can be fooled, and to know if they work properly you have to learn how to detect curses and set wards yourself, you should familiarize yourself with them so if you encounter them you know how they work, and how they fail. The existence of such objects does not excuse the capable witch or wizard for learning the proper skills. He scanned the room – he was going to have the students work in small groups, and he quickly scanned for likely trouble spots. The students were split mostly by house in the seating, with more studious students in the front… well that was easily handled.

You will be working by desk column- not rows. He said pointing down the lines of desk from front to back rather than side to side in case some of the children didn't' know the difference. Ms. Kearns and Mr. Talbott he said at the first column of desks, please move your desks forward to form a group of 6 here…" Professor Savoy was heartened when Martin automatically jumped up and helped Jena move the desk which would have been difficult for her to do by herself.

Once the students were organized, he set a different object down on each desk, and told the children to use their books and the techniques to try and figure out which each object did, while he instructed the small groups one at a time.

With 20 minutes left to go in class, he approached the last group that included Jena. He saw Jena was sitting quietly, looking away from the group, but obviously tense. The group was a bit quieter than the rest. He noticed that Jena glanced up briefly as he approached, and then looked away again. He would not call the shy child out in front of her classmates. Not yet, in any event.

"Did you discover what this object is, and what it does?" he asked.

"It's a magic detector." Said Mr. Talbott crisply. "It reacted when any of us touched it, when any of us tapped it with its wand, and it glowed blue upon a 'revealio' charm."

"Do you all agree with Mr. Talbott?" asked Professor Savoy neutrally, raising an eyebrow. Both the other Gryffindors in the group assented quickly. Martin merely shrugged, and Jena shook her head.

"Ms. Kearns, a verbal answer if you please." he prompted gently.

"No sir. I don't agree." Jena quickly looked at her hands again, avoiding looking at anyone.

"But you said…" started Mr. Talbott hotly.

"Mr. Talbott, I don't believe I was addressing you." Professor Savoy gave the boy a stern glare for good measure. "Please explain, Ms. Kearns."

"What I said is it detected magic, but since it turned blue and purple, it obviously detected different types of magic or situations." Jena explained hesitantly.

"Yeah! But it only turned purple for your!" one of the Gryffindors snapped indignantly.

"Mr. Cornwall, did it ever occur to you that if one person had a different response, that they might have superior knowledge of experience that you could learn from if you listened?" Professor Savoy snipped. Merlin, eleven year olds were annoying.

However, the object indeed was not a simple magic detector. It was a dark magic detector. Purple was… disturbing. It meant dark magic, very dark magic. The only darker was black. With Jena's history, this could turn into a quagmire quickly. Savoy took a deep breath – he would need to tread very carefully.

"Ms. Kearns, what do you believe this object is?"

"I think it may be a curse detector." She replied slowly, but Martin Talbott shook his head.

"Sir, I agreed with Jena, I don't think it's just a magic detector, but I cast a shrinking curse on a piece of parchment, and set it on the parchment and it remained blue."

"Interesting. What type of curse is a shrinking curse?" asked Professor Savoy neturally.

"Uhm, a simple one?" guessed Mr. Talbott.

"It's a light one." piped in Mr. Cornwall.

Professor Savoy bit back a retort at the Gryffindor for jumping in. Bad habits die hard, and he was after all just facilitating a conversation, not calling on the students.

"Correct." He bit out instead.

"So what does that tell you about the object?" he prompted.

"Well, it's not a curse detector, because it would detect even curses with light magic." puzzled Martin aloud.

"It's a dark magic detector." Jena said suddenly, face paling considerably.

"Congratulations, Ms. Kearns, 5 points to Slytherin." Smiled the professor reassuringly, but watching his ward with some concern. "Can you explain how you know that?"

"But…" Mr. Talbott said, confusion and consternation written on his face "it only turned purple when Jena tapped it with her wand. Wands aren't dark or light, are they?"

Professor Savoy struggled to keep the surprise off his face.

"Typically, no. But some families pass their wands down from generation to generation, and Ms. Kearns has such a wand. I believe she just figured out that the spell to do that may be cast using what would be classified as dark magic." Professor Savoy temporized quickly. Merlin's balls, he didn't need the first years to think his ward was dark! Professor Savoy's mind raced. That spell was not dark magic, or at least the spell usually used was not dark magic. Merlin! Knowing her mother was a Death Eater and she had inherited the wand, why hadn't he though to check the damn thing? And how to keep her classmates from believing that her wand, and through her association with the wand, that the child was in some way dark?

"Jena, is that why you thought it was a curse detector?" he asked quietly. The child met his gaze sharply, and paled further, but didn't reply.

"That's it for today." he said quickly. "I want a one foot essay on the object you studied today and the detection and logical process you went through. Tomorrow we will have the same groups, and you will trade objects, until we have gone through all the objects. Also, I will give extra credit for anyone who also wants to add 6 inches on how spells with dark magic can actually be considered good. Class dismissed."

He couldn't believe it. For the first time in his career he was letting his students out early. He sighed – he must be slipping.

"Jena, stay behind."

As the students filed out, Jena watched as Professor Savoy picked up the other objects, but left the one on Jena's table. Once the remaining children had filed out, he crossed back to the child.

"Jena, please tap the detector with your wand."

Seeing nothing for it, she pulled the dark, slightly crooked wand, and tapped the detector gently. I flared intense dark purple.

"Jena, is that why you thought it was a dark magic detector? Just because your wand turned it a different color than your classmates? Why would you think that?"

Questions! How she hated questions. The more that were asked the more she grew to loathe them! How did she even begin to answer that question? She had been aware of the fear, and the started loathing of her classmates when they had started to talk about dark magic and her wand. She knew what they were afraid of, and this small, not descript hunk of glass in front of her had started at all. Suddenly she despised the thing. But how to answer the Professor's question? If she told him the truth, would he loath her too? She 'felt' for him. She could sense concern, a bit of impatience, but nothing too strong. She noticed that his feelings often weren't as sharp as other, or as easy to read. Perhaps he had a way of shielding them? Should she trust him? She knew he had seen her arm before… perhaps the best way was to simply show him. A lump had formed in her throat, and seemed impossible to speak around it anyway.

Moving before she could change her mind, Jena put her wand down, and before she could lose her nerve, pushed her robe sleeve up on her left arm, and turned it so that the mark on her forearm was visible to the professor. He raised one eyebrow, as if in question, but remained silent. Then, she reached out with her left hand, and touched the glass. The base of the stone flashed black.

Jena swallowed hard. She knew she had be silent too long, and owed the Professor an explanation. "The others didn't see the black the first time I touched the detector. With my left hand, I mean, because my wand was in my right, but" she hesitated and touched the stone with her right hand. The detector flared blue.

"I always thought of that as a curse." She said, nodding her head to the left arm. Somehow acknowledging the mark would some how make it more real so she shied away from mentioning it. "I thought that blue meant magic, and black meant dark magic. Then my wand turned it purple. So I thought maybe it was confused because instead of touching me, it was touching something I was touching…" she trailed off. What more was there to say? She couldn't manage to meet the Professor's gaze any longer, and looked furtively away.

Professor Savoy wasn't quite sure what to say to the child. First, he had realized that the mark on the child's arm was some variant of the Dark Mark, however, since the Dark Lord's demise, those had not been infused with dark magic any longer. He cursed himself silently for not looking into this more carefully sooner. However, nothing for it right now, it was obvious his ward was deeply shaken. Again. He sighed. Well, the easier bit. That wand – and it still looked familiar to him, he had seen a witch wield that wand before.

"The mark on your arm was placed with dark magic, Jena. I'll not lie to you – very dark magic. The colors mean how much dark magic. Blue, as you guessed, was just magic, not dark. Purple is dark magic, and black is the darkest of magics." Blood magic, he thought to himself, but there was no way he'd share that with the child until he understood more, himself.

"We will look into it. It should not be active with the Dark Lord long dead, and that is concerning, but it doesn't seem to be hurting you in anyway, please try not to worry about it. We will look into it." He stressed again, hoping that his reassurances would calm the child. "However, as you may have guessed, for the dark magic detector to have worked, your wand has dark magic on it too, but the inheritance spells I know of aren't inherently dark. May I see your wand?"

The child quickly handed it over and the trust in that moment took his breath away. Jena trusted him. A child with no basis for trust of any adult, or a person at al really, trusted him enough to hand him her only means of deference without thought. A lump formed in his throat, and he saddled it away as the firmly placed those emotions - emotions he didn't care to examine or name, behind his occulmancy shields.

He walked over to another box of magical artifacts, and removed what was indeed a curse detector. He tapped it with the wand. It flared brilliant red.

"Jena, your wand has a curse on it." He said, his brow furrowing in concentration. He removed his own wand, and started running through detection spells on the wand. Even more troubling, they all came up negative. What crazy curse was on this wand?

"Well, it seems to work well enough for you for now. At the Easter break, I will take you to Olivanders, and we will see if the curse can be removed and if it can't, procure you a new wand." His ward's eyes met his, relief clearly palpable, with a bit hope. The child wanted a new wand. He mentally kicked himself – that was easy enough to arrange, and if it brought her a measure of peace, so be it.

"I don't believe you are suffering any ill effects from the curse. It may be that the curse only affects someone not of your family wielding your wand. Please don't let other touch or use it."

"Aye, professor, she agreed softly, retrieving the wand from his hand. Her whole life was a curse, she thought, it would only make sense that her wand was, too. What was the curse, and what could it possibly mean?


End file.
